Kiss the Demons Out of My Dreams
by anonkp
Summary: Marriage and fatherhood gave Deeks everything he ever wanted, more than he ever thought he deserved. When a chance encounter pulls him back undercover, will he be able to channel his alter ego Max Gentry in order to survive, or has family life caused Max to fade too far out of reach to keep him safe?
1. City of the Damned

**A/N: A second story. Who knew I had another one in my head? It's part of the same universe as my first (called "The Incident"). I recommend you check it out before starting this one to really understand Deeks' current state of mind, but if not, you'll catch up soon enough about recent events in his life. **

**I should also warn those who read "The Incident" that this story is quite different. I've moved from family fluffiness to full on angst and hurt/comfort. (Keep in mind that Frank Military is my favorite of the shows' writers.) I was surprised at how bloodthirsty I turned out to be, so if you don't enjoy the genre, this story probably isn't for you. ****The good news is that drafts of all 20 chapters are already written so updates should post weekly, and I promise to leave Deeks mostly better off than I found him. **

**Story warnings apply for language (more than the actual show), violence (about as much as the actual show), really heinous ideas espoused by the bad guys, and an occasional chapter-ending cliffhanger. No major warnings apply to this short opening chapter.**

* * *

_City of the dead  
__At the end of another lost highway  
__Signs misleading to nowhere  
__City of the damned  
__Lost children with dirty faces today  
__No one really seems to care_

-"City of the Damned," Part II of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

. . .

The late morning sun washed across his face as Marty Deeks stepped out of the New Directions Homeless Shelter. Summer didn't really get started in L.A. until August, and this mid-June day had begun unseasonably cool. As he pulled his worn green army jacket over his t-shirt, he paused to soak in the warmth and reflect on how lucky he was. Volunteering down on Skid Row never ceased to fill him with gratitude for his safe and happy life, made complete by his wife Kensi, his adopted son Derrick, and his sixteen-month-old baby girl Delilah. He had everything he ever wanted, more than he ever thought he deserved. Striving to be the kind of father he could only wish he'd had, and savoring every special second with his children, had brought him more joy than he ever expected to experience.

Within a few minutes, fifteen-year-old Derrick followed him out of the building and came to stand beside him. Since Deeks' retirement from LAPD, he had been working part-time as an attorney representing non-profit organizations like the shelter. Today had not been spent in his legal role, but instead he and Derrick had come in to help process donations to the shelter's food pantry. They'd been volunteering together like this for a couple months, Deeks wanting to teach Derrick about giving back to those in need. The boy had experienced more than his fair share of tragedy in his young life, losing his arms dealer father and NCIS executive director mother to violent deaths, and Deeks wanted him to see that no matter how rough you thought you had it, it could always be worse. A change of perspective could change your whole outlook on life. Derrick had eagerly taken to the work, sometimes helping with the manual labor like today, but most often tutoring kids whose family's troubles had caused them to fall behind on their schoolwork.

"Where'd we park again?" asked Deeks.

"The lot on Seventh," Derrick reminded him. He'd grown much more aware of details like this since getting his learner's permit six weeks ago.

"You wanna get tacos at Guisado's before we head home?" Deeks asked, receiving a big smile in response.

As they plunged themselves back into the loud and chaotic Skid Row streets filled with traffic and people and cluttered with makeshift shelters, an older white man with closely shorn grey hair walking past them in the opposite direction suddenly stopped and called out in a scratchy voice, "Gentry! What are you doing down here?" The man squinted at Derrick with suspicion. "And who's your friend?" His jeans and t-shirt showed off his wiry physique and his many tattoos, the most prominent being a chain of interlinked red swastikas and black iron crosses that appeared to wrap completely around his neck.

At the mention of his alter ego, Deeks froze in his tracks. A chill ran down his spine and his mouth went dry. His mind struggled to process the collision occurring between his past and present. He turned to fully face the man, having already recognized him by the sound of his voice alone. The knowledge that he brought danger leapt to the forefront of his thoughts. He needed to protect Derrick at all costs and he instinctively stepped in front of the boy. The idea of declaring himself LAPD and flashing his badge and gun flitted through his mind, but the fact that he was no longer LAPD and had no badge or gun forced him to abandon the tactic.

Instead he just replied, "Ripley. Long time no see." The adrenaline coursing through his veins made it harder to control his reactions, and while he tried to make his voice match Max's calm and collected tone, he doubted he'd succeeded.

The man called Ripley seemed to dismiss Derrick as a point of interest and said to Deeks, "I haven't seen you in a minute. Where you been? Did you just get out? Are you back with Benny?" He leaned in toward Deeks, the smell of nicotine oozing from his pores, and whispered, "Were you in on his big score? Real military grade stuff, am I right?"

Deeks' stomach sank at Ripley's news, knowing it meant he couldn't just brush the man off and get back to his life. Benjamin Johnson was a weapons dealer from Deeks' days as an undercover LAPD detective, and he knew he needed to find out more about Benny's "score," even as his gut screamed at him to take Derrick and run in the opposite direction. It felt like he was being slammed years backward in time and into a past life.

Without looking back at his son, he said, "Derrick, go back inside for a minute, OK? I need to talk in private. I'll come get you in just a sec." Derrick appeared puzzled by the whole exchange and more than a little concerned, but the unusual firmness of Deeks' voice, its slight edge, eliminated any possibility of debate. Derrick turned and headed back into the shelter, looking back at Deeks several times as if to question the order.

"Who's the kid anyway?" asked Ripley.

Deeks' mind raced for a response that would keep Derrick from coming under any increased scrutiny. "I came down here looking for a friend, and the kid has information about him. I was taking him out for a meal to see what I could get out of him."

A look of distaste passed over Ripley's face, but he seemed satisfied by the explanation.

Momentarily relieved, Deeks focused on what he needed to know to end the conversation. "I just got back into town, I'm actually looking for work." Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said, "Tell me more about Benny's haul. Where'd it come from?"

"Oh," Ripley laughed out. "That's quite a story. It involves some Pendleton ghost skins and the badass hijacking skills of some of Johnson's newest members."

"Hmmm, good for him. He always was a hard worker looking to take his tribe bigger and better," Deeks complimented, his stomach twisting as he spewed out the bullshit. "So you think he could use some help? Someone with my expertise?"

"Gentry, you may never have been a true believer, but you are useful, that's for sure. Remember that time when those Old Town Locos tried to kick us out of their territory?"

At the mention of a dark moment from Max's past, Deeks fought to respond. He knew he needed to project Max's confident, cocky self, but at the moment he felt the exact opposite. "Mm hmm," he simply replied. "Good times." Thank goodness Max was a man of few words. Trying to end the conversation, he prompted Ripley, "Where can I find Benny?"

"He's still down in the South Bay. He and the boys are doing a lot of riding, been hanging out at Godmother's in Torrance or Walker's in Pedro. I'm sure you can track 'em down there. But you better hurry if you want in on the action. They're planning to pass their merchandise out to as many different groups of true believers as they can, to cause as much mayhem," he grinned with the word, "as they can."

Deeks forced a smile, working to appear glad to hear the news. "Sounds promising. Thanks for the lead, Ripley. Good to see you." Pointing a thumb toward the shelter and trying to look resigned, he added, "I gotta get back to this kid."

Ripley shrugged, clearly still puzzled over Max's involvement with Derrick, but said, "OK, whatever. Good luck with Benny. Hope it works out for you."

"Thanks, man," Deeks replied. He felt no gratitude though, only sadness, resignation, and a huge sense of dread.

* * *

**A/N: The story's title comes from a Green Day song called "Give Me Novacaine." It and all the chapter titles and song excerpts come from the Broadway show inspired by their great albums _American Idiot_ and _21_**_**st**_**_ Century Breakdown_, which I'll say a little more about at the end of the story. They aren't intended as an actual playlist, but you could do worse than to listen to each song with its chapter.**

**On a separate note, I want to thank Sweet Lu and Psyched for all their wise words of advice whenever I had questions about this fiction writing stuff, and also thanks to all the other great writers who have offered assistance. I appreciate it so much! This story quickly became way more ambitious than I have any business trying to write, so I continue to welcome any and all constructive criticism.**


	2. Give Me Novacaine

**A/N: Thanks so much for the encouraging reviews on the opening chapter. I appreciate your support!**

* * *

_Take away the sensation inside  
__Bittersweet migraine in my head  
__It's like a throbbing toothache of the mind  
__I can't take this feeling anymore_

\- "Give Me Novacaine," Green Day

. . .

As Ripley walked away and Deeks turned back to the shelter, the sounds of the busy Skid Row street fell away as he ran a hand through his long, unruly hair and tried to gather himself. He no longer carried a law enforcement officer's badge. He now defined himself as a dad and a lawyer, and had for a few years now. The scariest assignment he accepted most days was facing Delilah's stinky diapers.

Yet he could see the writing on the wall. While he knew the team would never force him to do anything he didn't want to do, he also suspected he'd likely be their best shot at recovering the weapons Ripley spoke about. If that were the case, he knew he would choose to return to the work he once loved even if everything inside him now urged him to stay far away. It was just the right thing to do.

His mind reeled at the possibility of embodying Max again. Hell, the prospect of going back undercover as _anyone_ brought a tinge of fear. But above all, the desire to stay with his family pulled at his heart. With Kensi back at her NCIS forensics job full-time, he'd limited his hours working as an attorney so he could serve as the kids' primary caregiver. He couldn't imagine tearing himself away from that role to take up one from his past, particularly one that triggered all sorts of bad memories.

Deciding to focus on what he could control at the moment, he forcefully blew out his breath and walked back inside the shelter to retrieve Derrick, who'd been watching from a window and now looked him over with worried brown eyes. Deeks summoned all his rusty undercover skills and attempted to project an air of calm, telling the boy, "Hey, Buddy, I'm so sorry about that."

"Who was that man?" Derrick questioned.

Deeks wrapped an arm around his son's ever-taller shoulders and began steering him toward the back entrance, wanting to make sure they weren't followed to the car. As they walked, Deeks explained quietly, "He's a bad guy I met when I was undercover."

"He called you Gentry."

"Yeah. Max Gentry was the name of my undercover alias. I pretended to be a bad guy to catch the real bad guys."

"So did that man get away? He doesn't know you were a policeman?"

Deeks' confidence that his cover was still secure conflicted with his near desperate longing to have his gun with him. He tried to reassure Derrick, saying, "Actually he didn't get away. He got caught, only he didn't get a long prison sentence... He was arrested awhile after I was undercover with him, so there was no reason for him to think Max had anything to do with his arrest."

Derrick remained quiet as they walked straight to the parking lot, tacos long forgotten. Deeks spent most of the time checking behind him to make sure Ripley was nowhere to be seen, and trying to wrap his head around the situation. He stuffed down any thoughts about becoming Max again, and worried about the other difficult part of what he saw coming next - talking to Derrick about it and then, even scarier, Kensi.

They reached the car and Deeks breathed out a relieved sigh. His son was one step closer to safety. They pulled out of the lot and Deeks quickly hit the thankfully wide-open Santa Monica freeway and headed west toward the ocean. As the exits flew past his window and the distance between Derrick and Ripley grew, Deeks' blood pressure slowly reverted to a closer to normal level. "I'm really sorry to spoil the rest of our day," he told Derrick, "But, I need to make a stop to let my old team know what Ripley told me about. I'm gonna drop you off somewhere safe where you can watch TV or play video games while I do that, OK?"

"OK," Derrick replied before turning to gaze out the window. He had proved to be a bright and thoughtful young man and Deeks knew he had been quietly mulling over the unexpected twist to their day, and it was only a matter of time before he responded with more insightful questions.

It didn't take long before the next one landed. "What were all those tattoos about?" Derrick asked.

Sighing, Deeks weighed how much information to share. Should he be brief and vague, or should he give Derrick the detailed answer he sought? He decided his son was grown up enough to hear the facts, some of them, at least.

"They kinda tell you everything you need to know about the guy," Deeks began. "They're all white supremacist images. The Nazi swastikas connected to the crosses around his neck? Those are a symbol of a specific skinhead gang in Nevada he used to run with." He decided not to mention the elaborate number 33's on each of Ripley's hands, which were code for the Ku Klux Klan. The images they conjured were too terrible to force on his son, and Deeks just hoped he wouldn't ask about them.

He returned to alternating his focus between the drive toward Marina del Rey and the rearview mirror, checking for tails. After another few minutes, Derrick continued his questioning, except this time Deeks could hear concern, and maybe even a hint of betrayal, creeping into his voice. "Did you have to pretend to be a white supremacist?"

Deeks' heart clenched at the thought that his African American son might ever question his character or worry he couldn't trust him. "No, Derrick," he quickly replied. "I didn't. My alias Max was not a nice guy. He helped people buy and sell weapons or drugs, at least until we could collect enough evidence to send them to prison. But he was _not_ a white supremacist... On the other hand, he didn't really care who was. He was just out to make money."

Deeks paused to allow Derrick time to absorb the information before continuing his explanation. "But Max had a very different outlook on the world than I do, you know that, right?" Deeks looked over at Derrick to try to read his expression before turning his eyes back to the road. "Max was just someone I pretended to be so I could fit in with the bad guys... You know, I arrested a lot of people in my time at LAPD and NCIS. A lot. And some of the people I was the absolute happiest to put in prison? They were people like Ripley."

Deeks glanced over again and saw Derrick nod in acknowledgement. He thought about his description of Max and knew he wasn't sharing the whole truth. After all, Max was far from a normal undercover alias. He was Deeks' alter ego, a part of him, the dark piece of his soul he'd inherited from his father. And although Deeks knew that Max – and himself by extension – wasn't racist, he also knew he shared Max's ruthlessness and cruelty, courtesy of his dad.

He carried enduring shame about that side of himself. As much as he always wanted to blame Max's actions on Max, he understood that doing so was merely a futile effort to distance himself from his own bad behavior. No matter what Max might have done, Deeks was the person who carried that darkness inside himself. _He_ had shot his dad. _He_ had tortured a cleric. _He_ had killed his ex-partner under questionable circumstances.

Though he tried not to think about it - and most days spent with his children he largely succeeded - deep down he'd concluded that he didn't truly deserve to be happy. And even though he had fought for happiness all his life, he'd never expected things to really work out. Maybe this chance encounter was fate, or karma, finally catching up to him.

Derrick pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts by asking, "Wasn't it hard to be undercover with people like that?" From the worried undertone to his voice, Deeks wondered if the kid might actually think he enjoyed the company of sadistic, hate-filled criminals.

"God, Derrick, yes, it was really hard," he told him. "I hated every minute I ever spent with people like Ripley and his friends. But at the end of the day, I got so much satisfaction from tricking them - and then getting to arrest them - that it was worth it. People like them should be in jail, you know? And I was really good at getting them to believe I was who I pretended to be. Not just anybody can do that, that kind of work, and it was… rewarding to be able to rise to the challenge of it. I felt like it was the best thing I could do to protect people."

As he exited the freeway and headed south toward the marina, Deeks pictured what it would be like to do it all over again. He had trouble imagining himself back in his old role, pretending to be a bad guy and maintaining his alias long enough to take down the real bad guys.

They completed the rest of the drive in silence. Once they arrived at the boatshed, Deeks ushered Derrick inside, hooked him up with the television and a snack from the fridge, and excused himself to go back outside to call a number he thought he would never use again. As he dialed, the vigorous sea breeze encouraged him to take a series of deep, calming breaths, but he wasn't sure it had much effect on his overall frame of mind.

* * *

Nell had been spending her morning in the cool, dark confines of Ops updating some cold case files with newly compiled data when she heard the phone ring. She instantly recognized the number so wasn't surprised to hear Deeks greet her with a familiar but subdued version of, "Nellosaurus."

"Hey Shaggy, what's happening?" she replied lightly. It took a moment for her brain to recognize that Deeks had used the Ops line, but once she did, the concern in her voice came through loud and clear. "Are you OK? Are the kids OK? What happened?"

"Everything's fine," he told her. "I was just downtown with Derrick and we ran into someone who knew my alias Max Gentry."

"Uh oh," she replied, immediately ready to send reinforcements wherever Deeks needed them.

"Yeah, uh oh. Do you have time to do a couple things for me?"

"Sure, Deeks," she assured him. "There aren't any active cases at the moment, so just tell me what you need."

Falling into an old pattern with Deeks reminded Nell of their long history working together. He'd long hinted at how much he'd wanted to be a father, so when Derrick came to live with him and Kensi and he'd retired from the LAPD and NCIS, Nell had been thrilled for them all. Deeks had left his law enforcement career without hesitation, and other than worrying for Kensi's safety during the time she'd remained with the team, he hadn't seemed to miss any of it once he stepped away. Kensi had told her he'd wanted to leave for a long time before Derrick finally gave him an important enough reason to leave her behind with a new partner.

Seeing him with his kids, so relaxed and downright joyful, always brought a smile to her face. Nell knew from talking with Kensi that this new chapter of his life had brought him a sense of fulfillment he'd never had. Yet selfishly, she'd missed his presence at work. She'd missed the heart he displayed with the victims they encountered and the dedication and bravery he exhibited on every case they worked. But most of all, it was the lightheartedness he could bring to dark and scary situations that differentiated him from the rest of the team. Sure, they still bantered like champions, but they'd never come close to replacing his unique wit and charm.

Now as she waited to hear how she could help her friend, she worried that something bad had wormed its way into the happy family life Deeks had carved out for himself. He asked her, "First, can you send someone to the boatshed to watch Derrick, and maybe bring him some lunch? I brought him here because I was paranoid about keeping him safe, and wanted to get him away from anyone dangerous as quickly as I could. His mom can pick him up later."

"Done," Nell said, immediately starting to text an agent she knew was available for the task. "Where will you be?" she asked.

"I'm coming to you. Can you also pull up what you can on a Dwight Ripley? He did time a few years ago in San Quentin for drug possession, and before that he was part of a neo-Nazi group out of Nevada called the "Blut und Ehre Movement."

"Blood and honor?" she translated from the German.

"Yeah, it's a charming slogan from the Hitler Youth," he explained.

"Lovely," she responded, horrified that Derrick had been anywhere close to such a man.

"Ripley's only a small piece of the puzzle," Deeks continued. "The more important element is the white supremacist group called the Brothers of the Rope. They're operating out of the South Bay and they're run by a guy named Benjamin Jason Johnson, or Benny JJ for short. They may be in possession of stolen weapons from Pendleton. I can tell you more when I get there."

"Hmm," Nell said in response to the information, wondering if Deeks had stumbled onto something huge. "OK, I'll get on it right now."

"Thanks Nell, I really appreciate it."

"No worries. I think it's us who should be thanking you," she told him. She hesitated a moment before continuing. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this since you're not LAPD anymore, but there was a major theft of military weapons about six weeks ago. They weren't taken from Pendleton itself, but a transport truck going from there up to Twentynine Palms was hijacked. We're talking some serious firepower. And Deeks, three Marines were killed."

"Wow, OK, got it. See you soon."

Nell's mind raced as she started assembling the pieces of the puzzle Deeks had given her. The picture she already saw in her mind's eye made her wonder if he might soon be forced out of retirement and into a dangerous assignment, and the thought saddened her.

* * *

Deeks hung up the phone and blew out a long breath. The brief description of the Brothers had been enough to evoke some of the ugliest memories of his LAPD undercover career. Pushing the negative thoughts down, once more he tried to limit his focus to the next thing on his To Do list. He took a few minutes to ground himself, breathing deeply and looking up into the cloudless sky as several pairs of cawing gulls flew past. Finally, he headed back inside.

He debated what, if anything, to tell Derrick to prepare him for the possibility that he might have to go back undercover. He didn't want to abandon him there at the boatshed and then fail to return to collect him for dinner. He owed it to his son to tell him more.

Derrick was perusing a small bookshelf when he got back inside. Deeks muted the TV and sat him down on the sturdy but lumpy sofa, running his suddenly sweaty palms over his pant legs. "So, I have to go over to Kensi's office to talk to the old team about what Ripley told me. No one's supposed to be here alone, so someone from NCIS is going to come over and hang out with you until Kensi or I come back to pick you up. Is that OK?"

"Sure," Derrick answered with suspicion in his eyes.

Deeks knew the boy had picked up on his nervousness and he berated himself to keep it together so he wouldn't scare his son. "There's one more thing," Deeks added. Derrick eyed him expectantly. "There's a chance I may have to go back to work for a few days."

Derrick cocked his head to the side and asked, "With Kensi?"

"Well, sort of," Deeks hedged. "I may just be gone for a few hours, but there's a chance I might have to go back undercover to catch a few more bad guys."

"Why?" Derrick asked, his voice rising sharply. "Why do _you_ have to do that? Can't someone else go?"

"Maybe," Deeks said. "I won't know until I talk to the team. But it may be that since I already know the bad guys – since my undercover alias Max does – it might make the most sense for me to do it."

"But you're retired from the LAPD," Derrick pressed. "You shouldn't have to do anything dangerous like that. You're just a lawyer now."

The word "just" hit Deeks harder than Derrick intended it. He knew his son didn't mean to minimize his current work, and he knew the boy respected what he did and how he still helped people every day. He also knew Derrick was afraid. Quietly but firmly, he told him, "You're right, Derrick. I don't have to do anything dangerous like that anymore. But if I can help the team stop the bad guys from hurting people, then I will. It's not that I _want_ to do it – I really don't - but it's just that, well, it's the right thing to do."

"You want us to be proud of you," Derrick said softly.

Surprised by the boy's sentiment, Deeks replied, "I hope you're always proud of me, Derrick. But I also want to feel proud of myself. And if I don't help out, I won't feel that way." After a moment's reflection, he added, "I've always worked to protect people and to stand up for people who can't protect themselves. That's what I've done as a lawyer, and that's what I did as a cop. It's what Kensi, and Uncle Sam and Callen, and Nell and Eric, do every day... And it's what your mom did."

They sat quietly together, the only sounds the refrigerator's hum and an occasional seagull passing by outside. As Deeks considered what else he could say to make the situation less difficult and frightening for Derrick, the boy asked in a near whisper, "What if something happens to you?"

Deeks' heart sunk hearing his son's worries. "Hey, look, Buddy. If," he said, emphasizing the word. "If, I have to go undercover, I'll have the best team in the entire country looking out for me, watching my back. They have all sorts of secret James Bond-type gadgets to help keep an eye on me and they'll do everything possible to make sure I stay safe. Plus, you know, I was good enough at my job that Aunt Hetty recruited me to work as a federal agent. I may be rusty, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." Deeks wasn't sure if he believed that, but hoped Derrick took him at his word.

The boy didn't look particularly reassured, and asked sadly, "Will Kensi go too?"

"No. No… Kensi may help from the office, or maybe even watch my back from a distance in the field, but she won't go undercover with me," Deeks promised, secretly hoping for several reasons that he'd be right. "She'll be there for you even if I'm gone for a few days." He left unsaid that he could be gone for longer, or god forbid, permanently. "It'll be just like it was for the two of us when Kensi sometimes had those longer assignments before Delilah was born," he added, referring to the time after he'd retired when Kensi still worked as a field agent.

"OK," Derrick finally said.

A few minutes later when the NCIS agent appeared and Deeks got up to leave, Derrick stood up with him. Deeks told him, "You have fun playing video games on the big screen there. If I can't come back to get you, Kensi will, OK?" Deeks wanted to sweep Derrick into his arms and hold him tight, but he continued to try to play it cool to minimize the possible stakes.

Derrick took the step for him though, wrapping his arms around Deeks' waist and telling him, "Be safe."

Deeks started to assure him that he would but stopped short, not wanting to make more promises he might not be able to keep. "I love you so so much" he said instead, blinking back tears and returning Derrick's hug, forcing himself to let go after a short time, lest he decide not to leave at all.

"I love you too, Marty."

Deeks forced a smile and tried to project a confidence he didn't feel as he trudged out of the boatshed and got into his car. As he drove away from his son and toward an uncertain future, his thoughts shifted to Derrick's earlier question about how hard it was to go undercover. He told himself he was really good at it, really good at lying, at telling the truth reimagined for the greater good. He used to be really good at it anyway. But was he still? Had two and a half years away made him soft? Was lying to hardened criminals like riding a bike? And what would it feel like to let Max loose again after all this time?

He contemplated these questions as his thoughts turned to the tacos he should have been enjoying with his son, and he felt trapped by his own words... Stopping the bad guys _was_ the right thing to do, even if he no longer wanted to do it.


	3. American Idiot

_Don't want to be an American idiot  
__Don't want a nation under the new mania  
__Can you hear the sound of hysteria?  
__The subliminal mind fuck America  
__Welcome to a new kind of tension  
__All across the alienation  
__Where everything isn't meant to be O.K._

\- "American Idiot," Green Day

. . .

Stepping through the mission's massive wooden doors with his newly assigned visitor badge felt surreal. This place had been Deeks' home, maybe his first true home, for more than a decade, but since becoming a civilian he hadn't set foot inside its secure walls, only stopping briefly outside on occasion to drop Kensi off for work.

He was permitted to move unaccompanied through the old building and headed straight to the bullpen, where he found four familiar empty desks. He stared at the area as a wave of memories washed over him. Bantering and teasing, flirting, struggling for acceptance, celebrating milestones. He could almost hear the conversations reverberating back to him in this sacred space where he'd finally gained a family. A dysfunctional and unconventional family, but a family nonetheless.

He peered more closely at his desk. His old desk, he quickly reminded himself. It held three small framed photos, one of a beautiful woman Deeks recognized holding a small child, a second of a little boy and girl, and a third of two young women with an older woman he knew to be their mother. The many files stacked haphazardly in the center led him to speculate that its occupant might be working his way through some cold cases. Next to the files sat a few books, one on the essentials of forensic accounting and another on using data science for fraud detection.

Deeks shuddered at the dryness of the material and moved his attention to Kensi's old desk. It revealed little about its current occupant except that it clearly no longer belonged to Kensi. Neat and tidy, it was the epitome of minimalism, the only clue to its owner a collection of small snow globes, one from Washington, DC, another from Atlanta, and a third from San Diego.

Out of nowhere, Hetty appeared behind him. "Mr. Deeks," she stated warmly. "How wonderful to see you back. I hear there's been a development." As he began to catch Hetty up on the recent happenings, more memories flitted through his mind. Happy images of Hetty watching over him like a fairy godmother mixed with less glowing reminders of her failing to share relevant information, even at the risk of the team's safety. Still, he loved the woman for all she'd done for him and he'd always be grateful to her for bringing him his surrogate family and most importantly, for bringing him Kensi.

. . .

As Deeks spoke with Hetty, the woman he loved strode through the archway leading from the parking lot. When Kensi saw her husband standing ahead of her in the distance, she couldn't help but shout his name. She hurried forward and wrapped him in a hug, having lost any compunction she might once have had about refraining from public displays of affection in front of her old boss.

She'd been frantic with worry since Hetty had called her current boss, the director of the Forensics Division, to request she be loaned back to her old team for "a situation" pertaining to her husband, with no additional details provided except that he was alright. As she'd listened to her boss relay the information, Kensi had felt the blood drain from her face, instinctively knowing somehow that whatever had happened had brought trouble to their doorstep.

Since Deeks had retired from law enforcement nearly three years earlier when Derrick had come into their lives, she'd only had to worry about him encountering regular, everyday dangers like car accidents. Though she had long treasured their work partnership, once Deeks was out of harm's way, she'd savored the unexpected gift of his safety. She hadn't realized how much worry and pressure she'd actually carried over keeping him safe in the field until she no longer had to bear it.

Once that burden had been released, she'd relished every moment of the happy family life she'd long hesitated to pursue. And watching Deeks achieve his dream to be a father, as wonderful a father as she'd always known he would be, brought her nearly as much joy as it gave him. Whatever "situation" had occurred earlier in the day, she would doggedly fight to prevent it from interfering with the peaceful little world they'd built for themselves.

Kensi loosened her grip around Deeks' neck and pulled back enough to see his face, grazing her hand over the soft stubble of his beard, which over time had grown increasingly flecked with silver. She questioned, "What happened? Are you alright? Is Derrick OK?"

"Everything's fine, baby," he told her.

She knew the use of "fine" meant just the opposite. And she knew he knew it too. "Fine?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, fine is the best I can offer," Deeks acknowledged with a small shrug. "Derrick is safe and hanging out at the boatshed with Agent Oliver. I'm safe and hanging out here with you. The rest is... probably best saved for when the whole team is here so we don't have to go through the details a second time." Kensi wanted to prod for more information, but refrained from treating her husband like a hostile witness, content for the moment knowing he was safe and in her grasp.

Hetty interjected, "Agents DeChamps and Navid are already up in Ops, and Agents Hanna and Callen should be returning shortly. Why don't you two go on upstairs to start working with Nell and Eric, and I'll send Mr. Hanna and Mr. Callen up when they arrive."

As Hetty padded back to her desk, Kensi stepped away slightly, taking Deeks' hands in hers. With a frown she asked again, "Are you sure you're OK?"

Deeks smiled at her concern and nodded. "Mm hmm," he said. "It was just… unnerving." Kensi stared intently at him, silently urging him to share at least a little more of the story before they went upstairs. He complied with her tacit request, saying, "Derrick and I ran into this guy who knew Max. It freaked me out a little bit. I mean, he was never in any danger, but just having him near a man like that… It rattled me."

Kensi's stomach lurched as alarm flooded through her at the thought of Derrick anywhere near one of Max's acquaintances. "I can imagine," she replied. "What man? Where was this? Did he scare Derrick?" Kensi _could_ imagine exactly how her husband must have felt, knowing he was as fiercely protective of the kids as she. She would have torn this stranger's head from his body before she'd have allowed him anywhere close to her son. She thought about how terrifying it must have been for Deeks to have his old life leap out of nowhere to threaten his new one.

Deeks answered her last question with, "I tried to stay calm, to not raise any alarm bells. I think I mostly succeeded? But you know how smart and observant he is." Then he proposed, "Let's talk about it more after we talk with the team?"

Kensi realized how truly shaken Deeks had been by his encounter and wanted to comfort him. She wished she could just wrap her arms around him and take him home but since that didn't appear to be an option, she simply replied, "OK, partner," quashing her own fears and giving him what she hoped was a supportive smile as she squeezed his hands. "Let's head up to Ops then."

. . .

As Deeks followed his wife up the stairs, a profound sense of déjà vu flowed through him. How many times had he and Kensi done this before? He had loved working here, yet recreating the familiar action felt foreign somehow, as if he were treading someplace he no longer belonged.

In the cool air of Ops he received warm greetings from Nell and Eric, as well as Nicole DeChamps and Ehsan Navid. Nicole had joined the Office of Special Projects and partnered up with Kensi when Deeks retired. Her background as an ex-Secret Service agent provided the team with new expertise, and her courage and intelligence had always given Deeks confidence she'd have Kensi's back in the field.

When Kensi had left fieldwork for forensics, Hetty had brought in a new agent, an Afghan immigrant whom they'd originally encountered while working a case. Deeks remembered Ehsan's bravery and his ability to maintain a cover even then when he'd helped them stop a terrorist attack, and he was proud the experience had inspired the young man to pursue a career in law enforcement.

Hetty had originally been quite taken with Ehsan, so of course had kept an eye on him and snatched him up for the team as soon as he finished a stint as Special Agent Afloat on the USS Allegiance. According to Sam and Callen, he was a quick study, thoughtful and calm under pressure. Deeks felt nothing but confidence in this new team that might be watching his back if events unfolded as he suspected.

The group had just finished catching up when Sam, Callen and Hetty joined them. Deeks greeted his friends with their usual modified handshake slash one-handed slap on the back. Hetty quickly interrupted their banter by clearing her throat and saying, "This reunion is indeed wonderful, but why don't we turn our collective attention to the matter at hand." Deeks purposely remained standing between Sam and Callen, refraining from claiming his old spot beside Kensi, worried about his ability to cope with her reaction to the coming discussion.

Nell told the group, "After Deeks and I spoke and we did some preliminary research, we thought it would be helpful to bring in some outside help." As she explained, Eric typed away at his keyboard until a video screen popped up showing two people. Deeks immediately recognized FBI Senior Special Agent Lisa Rand, who had worked with the team on a number of past cases. After exchanging greetings, Lisa introduced her colleague, a tall red-head named Steve Timmons from the FBI Counterterrorism Division.

Eric then brought up a second screen showing a different group, the NCIS team from the Marine Corps West Field Office out of Camp Pendleton, who had been working the arms theft. The agent in charge there was a tall, willowy woman with a short bob of graying hair named Alexandria Ocampo.

Once the second round of introductions was complete, Nell suggested, "Deeks, should we start with what happened to you this morning?" All three groups turned their collective eyes to Deeks and he recounted his brief run-in with Ripley. He watched Sam and Callen exchange a look when he mentioned the weapons from Pendleton, he saw Kensi's jaw clench in concern as he talked about sending Derrick back inside the shelter to remove him from the neo-Nazi's reach, and he noticed Nell's eyebrows rise at the mention of divvying up the arms to different groups for maximum "mayhem."

When he talked about the Brothers' current possible locations and Ripley's idea for a job for Max, he saw Kensi cross her arms in front of her and frown. Deeks thought she looked about three seconds away from shutting the whole discussion down and dragging him home by his ear.

The San Diego NCIS team was next to brief and told the group about the arms theft. Deeks' old team was already familiar with a few of the details, but it was all new to Deeks, Kensi and the FBI duo. Agent Ocampo informed them that a tractor trailer filled with weapons had been hijacked between Camp Pendleton, on the San Diego County coast, and the Twentynine Palms Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in the desert north of Palm Springs.

"As I'm sure you're aware," she told them, "Twentynine Palms is one of the largest military training areas in the country. The weapons were being transferred for use in live fire exercises there. They included M79 and M203 grenade launchers, M32 multi-shot grenade launchers, and M3, AT4 and Javelin rocket launchers. And," Ocampo added, "They got plenty of ammunition to make the weapons operational, including high explosive grenades and dual-purpose rounds."

She explained that the hijacking occurred on an isolated stretch of Twentynine Palms Highway, just after it entered the Big Morongo Canyon Preserve in an area without cell service. "The hijackers staged an accident on the highway that forced the convoy onto a secondary route. The Marine Corps had purposely scheduled the transfer for the middle of the night to minimize interactions with other vehicles, but that just made the hijackers' job easier. They staged an initial attack on a side road and then sent in a group of men masquerading as a fast reaction team sent to back up the convoy. They had the right comm settings, passwords, vehicles and uniforms. In the confusion, they funneled the truck and its two accompanying vehicles into a dead end and came out shooting. The Marines didn't have enough manpower to defend themselves. Seven were injured, two of them still in the hospital. The other three were killed." Ocampo ended her summary with, "The three they killed were all highly decorated with combat experience. Two of them left behind families with children."

Deeks sighed. He had not missed hearing about death and destruction like this, and he felt genuine sadness for the loss of the Marines and for the families they'd left behind. But there was more to his reaction, a sense that maybe fate was reaching out to warn him about the risks ahead. He saw the dead Marines as a grim reminder of the dangers of protecting others for a living. He had never wanted to work in law enforcement once he and Kensi finally had a child. He'd wanted to focus on being a father, but he'd also sought to ensure that his child would never have to worry about growing up without a parent. It only became more important to him when Derrick, who'd already lost his birth mother and father, came to live with them.

Deeks took a couple of deep breaths to maintain the appearance of a calmness he didn't feel, and refocused on the ongoing conversation, hearing Ocampo answering Callen's question about what had happened next. "They did radio in an SOS," she said, "But by the time back-up arrived, there was no sign of the hijackers or the truck. There were traces of blood indicating that several of the hijackers had been hit, but it hasn't yielded any DNA matches. Daylight helped in the search though, and by late morning the truck was located behind a self-storage building on the outskirts of Desert Hot Springs. All the trackers it had carried had been disabled and its cargo was gone. We're guessing they had a lot of help to quickly unload the contents, probably onto a fleet of vehicles like vans or even pick-ups, so as to blend in on the roads."

He thought he heard a low growl coming from Sam before the ex-SEAL stated, "So they had major inside information on the shipment." Deeks knew everyone shared the disgust evident in Sam's voice at the idea that these men had been betrayed.

Ocampo told them they had been looking into all personnel at Camp Pendleton and Twentynine Palms who had known about the shipment. "There were more people in the loop than you might imagine. The logistics of pulling all the weapons together, getting them loaded, assigning the teams to guard the truck, and arranging to receive them on the other side have given us a larger pool of suspects than we'd like."

"Ripley mentioned ghost skins at Pendleton," Deeks reminded her.

Sam turned to Ehsan and explained the term, saying, "White supremacists who don't sport swastika tattoos, who purposely blend in with larger society and seek out jobs in law enforcement or the military to either spy on operations into their brethren, or otherwise covertly advance their cause." Ehsan nodded, acknowledging the grim information.

Deeks turned to Ocampo and clarified his point, saying, "So focusing your investigation on the Pendleton side might be the best use of manpower."

She nodded thoughtfully and told him, "Good observation."

The discussion soon shifted to the FBI intel on Ripley and Johnson and their respective groups. Ripley's Nevada-based Blut und Ehre Movement had been largely disbanded after the FBI's Counterterrorism Division carried out a series of successful infiltrations. Johnson's Brothers of the Rope, on the other hand, were going strong.

Agent Timmons explained, "We've been tracking them and believe they've amassed a small fortune dealing drugs. They target low income Hispanic or African American areas and view the dispersal of drugs not just as a means to make money, but a way to harm groups they despise. They've been smart about it too. We've tried to get people on the inside on multiple occasions but it hasn't worked. A few times the agent just got rejected from the group, but in two instances, we lost them. One went missing and has never been located. The other turned up dead in a drainage ditch in the Seal Beach wetlands. He'd been tortured."

At the mention of the tortured agent, Deeks' long-faded memories from his past experience with the Brothers returned in full force. The smell of the blood and the unforgettable sight of two other tortured men raced into his consciousness and roiled his stomach. He took a long, shaky breath and ran his hand through his hair, trying to settle his nerves and his mind.

Silence had descended on the group as everyone absorbed all the information. Deeks concentrated on bringing his breathing under control, purposely averting his eyes from Kensi, whose own gaze he felt boring into him from her position a few feet away.

Nell filled the quiet with more disturbing details. "The Brothers' name comes from the neo-Nazi _Turner Diaries_, a fictional recounting in diary form of a white supremacist guerrilla army that rises up and leads a revolution to exterminate non-whites, Jews, and so-called race traitors. On one occasion they drag thousands of these individuals from their homes and publicly hang them in the streets of Los Angeles in an event that comes to be known as the Day of the Rope… August first."

Deeks knew everyone shared his horror at the ramifications of such a group possessing a truckload of deadly weapons. Until this point, his primary emotion on the day had been dread about a possible undercover assignment, about becoming Max again. Now he felt only anger that these vicious men would attempt to massacre innocent people. The drive to protect others that ran to his core surged to the front of his mind, tamping down worries and memories as it went, and he knew what he had to do. "It's June twentieth," he said. "That leaves us six weeks to find those weapons and stop these guys. I-"

"No, Deeks," Kensi cut him off, the slight waver in her voice betraying her outwardly stoic demeanor.

He turned to her and replied, "Kens, you know it's what needs to be done."

"You don't work here anymore, Deeks," she told him in an increasingly louder, more insistent tone. "This isn't your job. This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't," he replied, his own voice rising. "You didn't see the way Ripley looked at Derrick this morning. If I can stop these men from hurting a lot of innocent people, I need to do it." He turned away from Kensi's intense expression and said to Hetty, "If it's the best way to take these bastards down, I'm ready to go back in."

* * *

**A/N: Please forgive my lack of knowledge about weapons and military bases, which extends only as far as a brief reading through Wikipedia and a look at google maps. A huge thanks to Jericho Steele for helping me correct some inaccuracies and giving me so much assistance making sure the hijacking scenario was at least semi-plausible- he's both brilliant and kind. All remaining errors are decidedly mine.**

**"Blut und Ehre" was an actual Hitler Youth slogan. _The Turner Diaries_ is a real novel written by a neo-Nazi named William Pierce, and the Day of the Rope is prominently featured in it. Ghost skins are a real concern of law enforcement agencies. By the way, the Anti-Defamation League or ADL has been a useful source of information for this story, and they do great work exposing extremism and delivering anti-bias education. Check them out if you're looking for a good charity to support.**


	4. Are We the Waiting

_Forget me knots and second thoughts  
__Live in isolation  
__Heads or tails and fairytales in my mind  
__Are we, we are the waiting  
__Are we, we are the waiting unknown_

\- "Are We the Waiting," Green Day

. . .

After listening to Deeks declare his willingness to go undercover to stop the Brothers of the Rope, Kensi's mind ceased all rational thought as it became filled with one driving urge – to keep him safe at all costs. She couldn't help but stare, aghast, watching the group discuss the idea's pros and cons.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, beyond the overwhelming fear, she heard Hetty and Nell talking as if they'd already known the operation would lead in Deeks' direction. She heard others ask about his alias' status and Deeks' status as a civilian. Had she been more focused on the discussion, she might have even felt a little defensive on her husband's behalf when Callen gently broached the subject of his operational readiness.

But she couldn't keep up with the ideas being tossed back and forth before her. She could only attempt to come to terms with the fact that the man she loved was going to put his life in danger. He was going to put their life together in danger. She'd assumed they were both done with that work, that they'd live happily ever after, that they'd grow old together.

She wanted to scream at the team to stop talking, to tell them they couldn't do this to him, and to her, and to her children. She read the resignation in Deeks' blue eyes and wanted to leap in front of him and defend him from these people who would put him in harm's way. But she didn't. She stood silently, and sadly, watching him and trying to will herself to support him in what he was apparently set on doing. She didn't know if she could.

Eventually, Hetty turned back to her husband and said, "Mr. Deeks, if you are willing, it would appear that Max Gentry offers our best chance to head off a potential terrorist attack."

Deeks replied to Hetty with a simple, "Yeah," looking anywhere but at Kensi. She knew she probably looked like a crazy woman about to explode, so she couldn't blame him. Instead he watched Hetty return to addressing the group, ordering Nell and Eric to thoroughly update Max's backstopping and set up the best means for monitoring his activities. She proclaimed that Sam, Nicole and Ehsan would take overwatch, that Callen or Agent Timmons, because they were both white, would back Max up undercover in public settings, that Agent Rand would provide additional intel from the FBI Counterterrorism team and mobilize more manpower for any sting operations, and that the Pendleton NCIS group would continue working their end to identify the spies inside the Marines. The group agreed that Homeland Security would be briefed but LAPD would be kept out of the loop for fear of leaks to possible white supremacist sympathizers in their ranks.

Kensi realized that Hetty hadn't yet given her an assignment. She was damned if she was going to let her partner in all things go out into a dangerous world without her there to watch his back, so finally she asserted herself, asking, "Hetty, what about me?"

"Ms. Blye," she responded, "Why don't you and Mr. Deeks head downstairs and start reviewing some of the files the FBI has sent over on the Brothers? I'll be down shortly and we can discuss the best role for you to play in this operation."

. . .

Deeks watched as his wife stared at Hetty for a long moment, seemingly debating whether to challenge her instructions. Instead Kensi silently nodded and looked over at him with a sad expression before turning for the door. He nodded at the group and headed out behind her, dreading having to absorb the pain and anger she was about to unleash, feeling responsible for causing it but seeing no way to stop it.

Once Kensi reached the bottom of the stairs, instead of finding an open desk, she headed outside past the courtyard's fountain, glancing back to make sure Deeks continued to follow. She stalked over to a wooden bench in a sunny, quiet corner. She didn't sit, though, instead she paced back and forth with her arms crossed in front of her. Deeks had no idea what to do or say. He felt as agitated and concerned as Kensi appeared to be. He decided he'd go with that truth, starting, "Kens-"

But Kensi cut him off, telling him, "Deeks I don't want to hear it. I'm scared." She continued pacing, adding, "I know I stayed with fieldwork when Derrick first came to live with us, and I know I was in danger a lot of the time, but this isn't the same. Now we have a baby too. And we're so happy. And I'm afraid…"

The heartbroken look on Kensi's face as she turned in his direction crushed him, and Deeks knew she left unsaid that she was afraid of losing him, and losing their happy life together. He tried to reason with her, gently telling her, "Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't do the same if you were in my place?"

She stopped her pacing and, with hands on hips and the vein in her forehead bulging, replied, "Can you honestly tell _me_ you wouldn't feel the way I do right now? Because I know for a fact you would."

"Touché," Deeks whispered, struggling for a way to appease Kensi and reduce his own anxiety. He stuck with his plan of openness and honesty, but a simple "I'm afraid too, baby," was the only reply he could muster.

It was enough though to make Kensi stop her pacing and stare intently at him, as if trying to read his emotions. She apparently satisfied herself that Deeks wasn't purposely trying to cause her massive worry, and that he did in fact feel as bad as she did, and after a few seconds she moved forward and flung herself straight into his arms, encircling her own around his body and hanging on for dear life.

They remained melded tightly together for a few minutes, each finding comfort in the other, the softly gurgling fountain providing the only sound aside from the muffled traffic that floated in from beyond the courtyard's thick walls. Eventually Deeks pulled her over to the bench. They sat turned into one another holding hands with their knees touching, as if losing contact would cause physical pain.

Deeks shared, "I haven't done this in long time. I know I'm physically up for it – I mean come on, check this out," he said, gesturing up and down his body with a tiny smirk, "And we go shooting all the time and you know my ace marksmanship skills are still as strong as ever," he bragged with a small smile in an attempt to break a little of the tension, even as his expression quickly turned serious again. "But the whole undercover thing makes me nervous. And being Max again feels, I don't know, unfamiliar somehow?"

"Deeks you don't have to do this," Kensi quickly offered. "Callen can go in. He can say he's a friend of Max, that Max sent him…" she trailed off, and Deeks knew he didn't have to point out that as good as he was, Callen wouldn't have nearly as strong a chance of infiltrating the group, particularly at a time when they were in possession of a huge cache of stolen weapons.

With a big sigh, Deeks reiterated, "You know I need to do this. I know I need to do this. I won't be able to live with myself if I back down and innocent people get killed. I'll feel responsible."

Kensi vigorously shook her head in dissent and told him, "But this isn't your responsibility anymore. Your only responsibility is to your family." She looked at him with an unvoiced plea on her face and a tear slowly trailing down one cheek.

Deeks sighed and looked up at the clear blue sky, trying to figure out how to explain all the emotions roiling through him. He looked back down at her and pulled her hands up to place soft kisses on each palm before laying them over his heart, saying, "I do feel a responsibility to you, to our family. You all are the most important people in the world to me. I love you all more than I thought possible," he told her, his eyes watering at the intensity of his own feelings. "But I also don't want Derrick and Delilah to grow up in a world where these monsters are walking around free to hurt them or others like them. I want to do this for our kids, and for other people's kids." He also thought about what Callen would face if he did have to take on the job of infiltrating the Brothers, and the greater risk he'd contend with as a stranger. After another minute's thought he added, "And I want to do it for the team, and for the cop I used to be."

Kensi shook her head slightly, as if acknowledging she wasn't going to stop this from happening, and she leaned forward to wrap Deeks in another hug. After a moment she sighed, then leaned back and brushed the hair out of his eyes and told him, "I hate this. But I love you and I believe in you. So much. And I'm very proud of you. Let's go work out how to get this over with as quickly and safely as possible… OK, partner?"

"Done. But give me another minute here with you first, OK?" he replied as he ran his own hand over Kensi's cheek to wipe away her tears and then to the back of her head, pulling it closer until their foreheads touched, giving him a chance to drink in all the sunshine and gunpowder he was likely to get for a while.

. . .

Ehsan and his teammates had returned to their desks to start pouring over intel. In the short time he'd worked in the Office of Special Projects, Ehsan liked to think he had built up a good tolerance for high stress situations and the occasional chaos that accompanied a fast-moving case. He realized he was feeling unusually uneasy at the moment and decided it was due to the subtle rise in the whole group's stress level. He knew how much these people loved Marty and wanted to keep him safe, and it was easy to understand why.

It had been Ehsan's experience as a civilian helping the team stop a terrorist bombing that had led him to his chosen career, but it was the time he had spent under Marty's supportive wing that had enabled him to envision the kind of law enforcement officer he wanted to become, one who carried himself with kindness and retained the ability to see the good in people. He and his wife Aisha had become friendly with Kensi and Marty since he'd come to OSP, but he'd never shared with the older man the extent to which he saw him as a role model.

Ehsan also knew how happy Marty was being a dad, away from the high stress of NCIS, and he hated seeing him sucked back into their world. He would do everything he could to make sure his friend emerged safe and sound, just as he sensed the same commitment and focus from everyone sitting around him.

He looked up from his reading material to see Kensi and Marty approaching from the courtyard. To his side, he heard Sam ask them, "You good?"

"Yep," Marty replied. "We're good." Kensi said nothing but walked up and stood beside her husband.

Ehsan sat quietly, trying to gauge exactly how "good" Marty and Kensi really were. As he assessed them, Callen looked up from his computer to ask, "Can you tell us anything else about the Brothers of the Rope? How do they know Max Gentry? Did he do some work for them?"

Marty sighed, giving Ehsan the impression that his past experience had been decidedly unpleasant. He explained, "I was under with an arms trafficker named Sheldon Ruiz. My old buddy Ray had been my CI for about a year and he had tipped us off to Ruiz's activities. Ruiz sold weapons to Johnson more than once, and I was charged with facilitating the transfers. Johnson was careful though and never put himself personally at risk of physical or legal trouble. He's smart... In his twenties he was dishonorably discharged from the Army for conduct unbecoming, but before that he had worked his way into a pretty high level position in logistics." Ehsan knew a logistics position could have enabled Johnson to learn a lot about ordnance and transportation, two areas that would have helped him carry out the heist.

"Anyway," Marty continued, "There was bad blood between Ruiz's men and Johnson's, and a few altercations took place. At one point we found two of Ruiz's men bound, gagged, and… tortured to death in a way I don't even want to describe." Marty paused and shook his head as if to remove unpleasant memories. He summarized, saying, "Johnson is smart, and he is deadly." With those words, Ehsan watched Kensi close her eyes and sigh.

"Were you able to take him down?" asked Nicole.

"No. My focus was on Ruiz," he replied. "I shared what I learned with the Gang and Narcotics Division. They eventually pressed charges against him but they just didn't have enough evidence to make anything stick. About a year later I went back under with the Brothers themselves. I – Max - worked as an enforcer for a short time. At that point Johnson was amassing more men, followers really, for his sick beliefs. Ripley was one of them. Johnson was just getting into the drug business as a way to support his ambitions."

"Was Max a believer?" asked Sam in a neutral voice.

Marty hesitated to answer and crossed his arms defensively, and Ehsan could feel an unexpected tension radiating off him. He knew Sam would never doubt Marty's own morals or beliefs. He had heard Sam tell countless stories about working with the man. Many were humorous, but there had been other times, more contemplative moments, when Sam had shared examples of Marty's incredible courage under fire and his unwavering loyalty. Still, he thought maybe Marty questioned Sam's motivations for asking his current question, and watched him take a deep breath before replying, "No, Sam, Max was agnostic about such things. He just wanted to make money and maybe smack a few heads around, but didn't care about anything beyond that."

"And this time were you able to build a case against him?" asked Ehsan, wanting to move Marty's focus away from Sam's question.

"Yeah. We got enough evidence to send him - and Ripley and several others - away on drug charges, but he had a good lawyer and didn't stay in prison for long."

By this time Nell had joined the group and added, "He got a ten-year sentence but was out after five."

Kensi asked, "What did Johnson think happened to Max?"

Marty told the group, "The takedown didn't happen until about four months after Max worked for them. He had moved on to other groups interested in his services, and I think Johnson knew Max was still out there working – he didn't just disappear. So there's no reason to think he would have tied Max to his arrest."

Callen interjected, asking, "Johnson knew Ray?" At Marty's affirmative nod, he continued, questioning, "Does he know Ray testified against Nelson Sanders?"

Ehsan had come to value his team leader's ability to analyze a situation in a detached way, knowing it frequently helped them all stay safe. "I don't know," Marty told him, "But I think we should assume he does."

Nell chimed in, "We've been backstopping Max's history, and have him arrested at the same time as Sanders for weapons possession and assaulting an officer, doing time in the U.S. Penitentiary in Beaumont, Texas. He was just released last year and settled in Dallas until six weeks ago, when he moved back to L.A. We figure he can blame Ray for turning on him too."

Marty nodded his head, and Ehsan knew that he, like the rest of them, appreciated Nell and Eric's attention to detail. As the team continued to question Nell, making sure there were no holes in Max's backstory, Hetty appeared by Marty's side, saying, "Mr. Deeks, may I see you over in wardrobe?"

. . .

Deeks quietly followed Hetty into the familiar nook, where she had hung several articles of clothing on a rack. "The techs setting up your cover apartment have taken over all the clothing you will need for this assignment. I just wanted to send you out of here today with an ensemble worthy of the infamous Mr. Gentry."

At the mention of Max's name and the sight of the items Hetty had assembled, Deeks suddenly felt overwhelmed by what he was about to do. His mission had transformed from the hypothetical to the very real with the appearance of a few rugged jackets and worn jeans.

He thought back to an earlier time when he and Hetty had had a similar chat about Max. That time, he had dreaded becoming Max because he was a bastard and a potent reminder of the dark part of his father he carried inside him. This time, he worried about his ability to call Max back up from the deep. He knew he was still there, only it had been a long time since he'd encountered him and he didn't know how easily Max would reemerge, or whether he could control him when he did.

As Hetty turned away from him to work her way through the clothing options, he ran his hands through his long hair and gripped the back of his neck. As if sensing his disquiet, without turning to face him she said, "I know this has not been an easy day, and it is about to grow more difficult." She pulled several items from the rack and turned to Deeks, looking up at him silently, waiting for him to speak.

"Do you really think I can pull this off, Hetty?" Deeks asked.

"Do you, Mr. Deeks?" she replied in her usual, frustratingly enigmatic way.

"I want to," he told her sadly, waiting to hear her confirm that she shared the same lack of confidence he felt in himself.

Instead Hetty leaned forward and said quietly, "You must promise never to tell Mr. Callen I said this, but you, Mr. Deeks, are the most talented undercover operator I have ever encountered. I know you have concerns about this particular alias, but you must remember that whether an alias was created and backstopped by Nell and Eric, or made up on the fly, or someone you think of as an alter ego, you have always been able to make that alias convincing. You may be out of practice playing Max, but you must trust that your abilities to create, to problem solve, and to adapt, are still there."

Deeks wanted to believe Hetty's compliment, but thought the woman would say anything to make him feel ready for the op. "Hetty, I don't think playing peek-a-boo with Delilah really counts as improvisation."

"No, you're probably right about that," she chuckled. "But think about how on your toes you had to be when Derrick first came to live with you. You had to adapt quickly to an unknown situation, to make him feel safe, and to learn how to build a life together as a family. You engage similar skills in the courtroom every day. I know it's not the same as adapting to a den of hardened criminals, but I do believe the principles are the same."

"OK," he said doubtfully as he took possession of the chosen garments.

"Now try those on," she ordered him as she gestured toward the curtained area. "And come see me before you head out. I have some paperwork for you to sign."

"I will," Deeks said softly as he stepped behind the curtains to change. The old jeans felt similar to his own, as did the dark long sleeve t-shirt. It wasn't until he pulled on the worn, dark brown waxed cotton jacket with a few fraying motorcycle patches on the sleeves that he thought for sure he'd start to feel Max waking up inside him. He pushed aside the curtain and came out to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He buttoned the jacket closed, folded the collar up around his neck, and waited.


	5. Dearly Beloved

_Dearly beloved, are you listening?  
__I can't remember a word that you were saying  
__Are we demented  
__Or am I disturbed  
__The space that's in between insane and insecure_

\- "Dearly Beloved," Part IV of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

. . .

Sitting at his desk, listening to his teammates discuss the operation, Callen watched as Deeks emerged from behind the wardrobe curtains in his worn jacket to stand pensively in front of the mirror. He recalled a different time when he had told Deeks he didn't want him on the team if he wasn't ready to be back. Well, he sure didn't seem ready now. They all needed him to pick up right where he left off almost three years earlier. Dealing with such dangerous men could no doubt be deadly otherwise. Was it the right thing to do to send him undercover? Deeks had been great at his job, the best undercover operator Callen had ever worked with. A Deeks operating at seventy-five percent was still better than most agents at a hundred percent. Or was he just telling himself that to justify sending his friend into harm's way?

He got up and walked over, stopping to casually lean against the cold stone archway that marked the quiet nook's entry. He remarked, "You seem to be looking pretty hard for something there."

"Something, or maybe someone," Deeks replied, turning to face him.

"Max Gentry," Callen said, his ever-observant blue eyes taking in Deeks' demeanor. He knew Max and Deeks shared DNA, shared a father, really.

"Yeah," Deeks confirmed. He leaned back against a sewing table and folded his arms across his chest, telling Callen, "You know, I always hated Max. I hated what he said about me, what he represented about me? I haven't had to deal with him in a long time and if anything, I hate him even more now."

As Deeks spoke, Callen narrowed his eyes, continuing to assess his ex-teammate's state of mind. He wanted to help Deeks get his head straight so he could succeed, and so he could emerge from this mission in one piece. He told him, "I'm gonna ignore the fact that you sound like a person with a split personality, and tell you this… Max may be a son of a bitch, but he's the son of a bitch who's going to keep you alive out there. You need to let him back out into the world, Deeks, if only for a little while. His instincts are gonna help you react quickly and appropriately, and that will sell your cover and keep you safe." He added with a smirk, trying to lighten Deeks' mood, "And now _I'm_ the one sounding like I'm talking about a different person."

Deeks' lips turned up in a hint of a smile, before they turned right back down again. "What if I can't do it?"

Callen valued Deeks' honest assessment of his operational readiness, but didn't have enough time to do more than try to bolster his confidence. He thought about how he would approach the situation and advised Deeks, "Then trust your training. Approach your cover like you would any other alias. You already know what makes Max tick. Think about his physical habits, his way of speaking. Analyze him like you would any other assignment."

Deeks nodded his head in recognition of the helpful advice. Callen continued, "This doesn't have to be psychotherapy, Deeks. Don't make it so complicated. You know how to do this."

"Right, yeah, no, I do," Deeks said. "Thanks Callen."

"Anytime," he said, turning and walking toward the stairs, hoping he was right. As the team leader, Deeks' safety was his responsibility, and he'd never forgive himself if he let anything happen to a man who'd already given so much of himself to their work, and who deserved to be enjoying his happy, and much safer, life with his family.

. . .

After another minute spent staring into the mirror, Deeks exited the wardrobe area. He noticed Kensi engaged in a serious discussion at Hetty's desk, and only Ehsan and Nicole remained in the bullpen. He decided it was his cue to head back up to Ops for details on his backstopping and to pick up monitoring and communication supplies. Upstairs he found Nell, Eric, Callen and Sam conferring over the plans.

Eric pulled out what appeared to be a couple tubes of Chapstick and offered them to Deeks with a smile. "Umm, thanks?" Deeks told him, knowing he'd explain further.

Eric said, "You remember the Overwatch spray we've used to track people, right?" As Deeks nodded, Eric continued, telling him, "Well, consider this an alternate version. We don't want you to have anything that could out you if they do a thorough search, and the Overwatch spray container is hard to disguise, unless you're a woman, in which case we can make it look like perfume. This is a gel version. You open up the tube, scoop a little onto your finger, and rub it onto whoever, or in this case, whatever it is you want to track."

"Are my insides gonna glow if I put any on my lips?" Deeks asked, popping a cap off and smelling the tube's contents, happy to find it odor-free but still wondering about its potential adverse health effects.

Nell jumped in to reassure him, saying, "No, the gel breaks down in your digestive system, so feel free to use it if you need to."

"It's perfect for your delicate lips, Deeks," Sam teased and smiled as Deeks rolled his eyes. Sam continued laying out the plans, explaining, "The objective here is to find the cache of weapons before they can be dispersed all over the country. It's unlikely that Johnson's going to reveal their location to Max, although that would be the best outcome. Instead, we're hoping you can apply the gel to vehicles, whether it's the gang members' bikes or any other cars or trucks, especially if they look like they might be used for transporting weapons. It can also go on clothes or any other object."

"OK," Deeks said. "That sounds doable."

Nell replied with a smile, "It is absolutely doable, Shaggy. If we don't find the weapons before they start distributing them and you do end up at any exchanges, it would be particularly helpful if you could mark one or two individual weapons cases, seeing as people might switch up their transportation, but they're unlikely to remove anything from its case." After he nodded at her instructions, she handed over communication devices: earwigs that Deeks would hide in his cover apartment unless and until he'd developed enough trust with the Brothers to safely use them, one phone for Max, and another for Deeks to hide and use for communications with Ops.

She also relieved him of his jacket in order to add a button camera so the team could watch and listen in on things from his side. She warned him that Johnson might have electronic detection equipment and that they'd be careful about keeping the button cam deactivated in locations where it might be discovered. And she pulled out a container of old-fashioned Overwatch spray, gestured for Deeks to turn around, and applied some to his neck. The cool mist hitting his skin instantly made him feel just a little safer.

In fact, all the surveillance equipment had a calming effect. It symbolized the collective efforts being taken to keep him safe. He remembered how alone he'd been in his LAPD undercover operations, going solo without any back-up at all. Knowing how close the team would be at all times made him realize that although he faced a dangerous mission, he wasn't operating without a net.

. . .

Deeks thanked Eric and Nell and walked out of Ops, pausing on the landing to look down at the activity below. Sam followed him out and joined him, leaning over the railing and following Deeks' gaze. "I know it feels like it's been awhile," Sam said, "But I want you to know that we'll have your back out there."

"Thanks Sam. I never doubted that for a second," Deeks replied, as thankful as ever for the amazing team around him.

Sam turned to face him, saying, "I respect the decision you made to choose a safer line of work and make fatherhood your priority... You know, some days I wonder if I should've done the same thing. I know my life would've turned out differently... I just want you to know we're gonna make sure you get back home with Derrick and Delilah as quickly as possible."

At the mention of his children, Deeks suddenly felt himself getting choked up. He expelled a shaky breath and replied, "I appreciate that." Sam turned back to look out over the bullpen, mirroring Deeks' pose and giving him a moment to collect himself. Deeks' thoughts turned to his friend's choice to continue working, and he asked, "Do you ever think about getting out?"

"Every time something bad happens," Sam replied. "Every time I almost get myself killed. I feel so much guilt about potentially leaving my kids as orphans. But then I see the horrible people we stop from harming other parents and children, and I feel like it's my calling to help them stay safe… Do you think I'm wrong?"

"God, no," Deeks replied instantly. "I respect your choice. It's why I'm doing this now, because I want my kids, hell everybody's kids, to grow up in a world that's as safe as possible, where they can be happy…" He thought about how he had once shared Sam's drive to protect others, but over time the trauma of so many close calls had weighed too heavily on his soul and he'd longed to escape the stress of their job. He told him, "I admire what you do Sam. And as much as I feel like it was also my, um, what did you call it- calling?- in life to protect people, I just don't think I had the strength to keep doing it."

Sam's neck spun on a dime as he responded to his friend's comment. With a frown on his face, he told him, "You're kidding right?" Deeks shrugged in response, keeping his eyes focused out over the mission, regretting having shared his innermost thoughts. Sam continued, telling him, "Deeks, look at me." Deeks reluctantly turned to face him. "That's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard you say, and you've said too many ridiculous things to count." Deeks mouth turned up in a slight but short-lived grin and Sam told him in full seriousness, "You are without a doubt one of the strongest men I've ever known. Just because you wanted to make a new life, a different life for yourself, doesn't imply any weakness, OK?"

Deeks nodded and told him, "OK." He thought about how much he valued Sam's opinion of him, and how hard he had worked to earn it. He _had_ been strong before, so maybe he could be again. He just had to keep his mind off his children. Deeks asked, "When you're under, how do you push thoughts of your kids away so you can focus on your job?"

"I try to stay in the moment," Sam told him. "If I start looking at the big picture, at whatever terrible goals the bad guys have, or what a terrible world it is where bad guys like them can exist, then I inevitably start thinking about my kids and wanting to protect them. It's not the worst thing though, 'cause it's still motivating. But it can be distracting too, so I just try to take every case one step at time."

As Deeks pondered Sam's words, the big man turned to him and advised, "Remember to trust your instincts out there. If you get a bad feeling about a situation, trust your gut. Don't be afraid to call in the cavalry. You're a great undercover operator, so don't second guess yourself, OK?"

Deeks appreciated Sam's compliment, and his concern. "Yeah, OK. Thanks Sam."

Sam wrapped a big hand around the back of Deeks' neck and ruffled his hair with his other, telling him, "We miss having this floppy hair around to make fun of. Callen and I decided we have to get in as many jokes about it as we can while you're back with us, especially given its epic length."

Deeks knew Sam was secretly jealous of his, yes, longer than ever Viking mane. He thought about retorting with a joke about Sam's own (lack of) hair, but decided not to risk upsetting the man he thought of as a big brother. Instead he just smiled and said, "Wow, déjà vu. Bring it on, big guy, bring it on."

. . .

Deeks headed back down the stairs in search of Kensi, but instead saw Hetty watching him expectantly from her desk, so he walked over and sat down. He said, "I saw you and Kensi talking. Did you decide about her assignment?" He wavered between wanting the reassurance of having his partner backing him up, and keeping the mother of his children as far away from danger as possible. If he could decide, he'd choose to keep Kensi safe.

"We did, Mr. Deeks. Of course, Ms. Blye is anxious to provide back-up to her partner in the field," she said. Deeks raised his eyebrows to prompt Hetty to continue. "It was my decision, though, to have her remain here, providing support in Ops."

Deeks felt both disappointment and relief, and asked Hetty, "How mad is she?"

Hetty chuckled. "Oh, quite angry I would say. I told her it had nothing to do with trying to keep her safe, and that I have always respected any decision she made for herself about working in the field. The reason I want her to keep some distance is that I think it will be one less distraction, one less concern, for you to worry over. I want you to be able to focus on the job at hand without thinking about Kensi, or about what she might think of Max."

Deeks nodded and blew out a long breath, comforted by the knowledge that he would indeed have one less thing to worry about.

"So," Hetty said in a clear subject change. "There are two other items of business to attend to." As she pushed a pile of paperwork in Deeks' direction, she explained, "We can't just have a private citizen working undercover for the government, so I'm proposing an interim arrangement between us."

Deeks looked at the papers and realized he was seeing a modified version of the ones Hetty had once upon a time given him, which he had never chosen to sign. The current document was titled "Interim Assignment to Naval Criminal Investigative Service," and Hetty had already completed it. In another echo from long ago, she held out a pen for him to use.

"Wow, again, déjà vu," Deeks remarked almost to himself as he took the pen into his hand.

"Do you have any regrets about never officially joining us?" Hetty inquired.

Deeks considered her question for a moment, and told her, "Not really. It all worked out and I don't think being an agent would have changed anything. I think it always gave Kensi and me just a little more flexibility about our relationship than we might have had if we'd both been agents."

"Hmmm," Hetty replied noncommittally as Deeks signed the documents.

Sliding the papers back to her, he asked, "Do _you_ have any regrets?"

Hetty smiled and told him, "I would have loved to see you with your Special Agent's badge, if only because I think it might have aided in your quest to earn your co-workers' respect. I always knew how capable you were, but some of them were rather slow to understand your incredible value to the team."

"Maybe," Deeks replied with a small shrug. "Maybe it would have helped. But I don't know if a shiny new badge would have made a difference. I think it took proving myself in the field, having people's backs in extreme situations, for it to finally sink in."

"Perhaps that's true, Mr. Deeks. I'm just glad that you did find a home here. Even if it was never your official home, I know that you gained a family with us, and I'm so happy to have been a part of that."

Deeks felt a surge of gratitude toward the little woman sitting across from him, and told her, "You were a big part of it, Hetty. I'll always be thankful that you found me."

Again she smiled at him, saying "I think Kensi, and the entire team, is grateful that you found us."

Deeks appreciated the gesture, but also felt the conversation had taken on a subtle air of finality, as if Hetty wanted to share her affection just in case the worst happened. He decided to move things along, prompting, "And the second thing?"

"Ah yes," she said. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out some keys. "One is to your apartment. The address is on your new phone. The second is to your transportation." Deeks peered more closely at the key and saw its Harley Davidson logo. "I would have loved to give you the opportunity to use your own splendid Triumph," she told him, "But I just didn't think that was Max's style. This selection is a little worse for wear, which I believe is a better match for Max's recent life experiences."

Deeks smiled at her thoughtfulness, and only for a second remembered how angry he'd been when she'd originally taken away his beautiful bike. He'd gotten it back when he retired from LAPD, but he rarely used it, more often than not needing to take one or both kids with him on his daily travels.

He left Hetty's desk in search of Kensi, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to know exactly where she'd be. He marched straight to the shooting range and stood outside watching her for a few minutes, taking in her deadly aim, her clear anger, and her overwhelming beauty. He would always feel a sense of wonder that she had chosen him and he took a moment to savor her in all her ferocity before he entered.

. . .

Kensi had always found an outlet for outrage or frustration in the act of tearing a paper target to shreds. The range was the only place she could think to go after she'd spoken with Hetty and learned she wouldn't be able to have Deeks' back on his assignment. As the muffled sounds of shot after shot rang through her ear protection, she realized that what frustrated her the most was that Hetty was right. Deeks _would_ be better able to focus on what he needed to do if he wasn't also worried about keeping her safe.

She struggled to remember how they'd managed to pull off such a balancing act for so many years. Once upon a time, they'd been able to love one another while also seeing each other in dangerous situations. She fought to summon back up the ability she'd once had to go through their dangerous days with some level of denial about what might happen. She tried to comfort herself with all the steps the team was taking to keep Deeks safe, but it didn't diminish the awful feeling of dread and fear in the pit of her stomach.

After she'd finished off her third target, she sensed his presence behind her. She set her gun down on the counter, removed her ear protection, and turned to face him. He gave her a small smile, telling her, "I love you."

His simple words deflated some of the tension she held. He was always so good at that. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, and then cocked her head, assessing him. She replied with a serious expression, "I love you too."

He told her, "I talked to Hetty."

"I'm sorry I can't be there with you," Kensi quickly replied. She wanted him to know how desperate she was to face it all by his side.

"It's OK," he reassured her, moving forward to reach out and brush some stray hairs away from her face. "It's all gonna be OK."

They didn't have a lot of time, and she needed to use that time to make sure he was in the best place possible, so she told him, "You are great at this. You know that, right?"

He chuckled, "So I've been told. Repeatedly in the last few hours. I may have actually begun to believe it."

She crinkled her eyes and arched an eyebrow, telling him in a mock order, "Good. You better. And even if I'm not on overwatch, remember Deeks, I'm just a phone call away. I can always show up as Max's girlfriend."

"I'll keep that in mind," he told her. She knew that although he might want to take her up on that option, he'd never willingly pull her into the operation.

They discussed plans for child care that involved the two grandmothers providing support as needed, and Deeks made sure Kensi or one of the moms would pick Delilah up from daycare and Derrick up from the boatshed. "Try not to make Derrick worry," he told her. "I can't bear the thought of him being scared, or thinking he could lose me like he lost Mosley and his dad."

Kensi felt his distress and brought her arms up to grip his biceps, coming close enough for him to wrap his own arms around her hips. She tried to reassure him, saying, "Hey, Deeks, didn't I just tell you how much faith I have in you? I'm gonna share that confidence with Derrick. You're his father now, and I'm gonna make sure we do everything in our power to bring you back safe and sound to him. You two will be back watching basketball and hiking in the mountains before you know it."

By the pained look on Deeks' face, Kensi could tell she'd erred in talking further about his current life with his children. He needed to separate himself so he could focus, and that meant they also needed to end their conversation.

Interrupting her thoughts, he asked her, "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," she said without hesitation.

He let go of his hold on her and pulled off his wedding ring, then reached out for her hand and opened her fingers up to place it into her possession. Tears welled up in her eyes as he asked, "Hold onto this for me?"

She couldn't reply, but nodded. She hugged him tightly as she got her emotions under control, and pulled back in his arms to say, "I know you're gonna kick bad guy ass. Just kick it as quickly as possible so you can get back here with us, OK?"

His own emotions seemed ready to spill out and he kept his reply short and sweet, telling her in a husky voice, "I'll do my best. I love you 'til the end of time and back."

"Til the end of time and back," she said in a near whisper, kissing him and then hugging him briefly before stepping back to let him slip away.

. . .

Walking away from Kensi with the smell of gunpowder lingering in his nostrils, Deeks attempted to set his emotions to the side and concentrate on the job at hand. He picked up Max's jacket and weapons and after a few parting words with the team, headed out to his undercover apartment and then to meet up with the Brothers of the Rope, with Sam and the others planning to back him up.

Deeks had always told himself that he hadn't lost a step, that if called upon, he could pick up right where he left off taking down bad guys. He liked to think that his skills were still double black diamond rated. But the Brothers were big-time, seriously dangerous men who wouldn't think twice about killing him at the slightest hint of betrayal. Deeks found himself feeling a lot more like the civilian he had slowly morphed into since leaving NCIS than the badass jungle cat ninja assassin undercover operator he once was. As he rode toward the South Bay on his beat-up Harley, he repeated his new mantra over and over, telling himself, "It's just like riding a bike. It's just like riding a bike. It's just like riding a bike…"


	6. Boulevard of Broken Dreams

**A/N: Here's where I provide a gentle reminder about the story warnings mentioned back in Chapter 1…**

* * *

_I walk this empty street  
__On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
__Where the city sleeps  
__And I'm the only one and I walk alone  
__My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
__My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
__Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
__'Til then I walk alone _

\- "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," Green Day

**_. . ._**

After leaving the mission, Deeks had swung over to his cover apartment on a shabby side street in the Pico Union district near downtown. The area had just begun to display the first signs of gentrification spreading in from Staples Center to the east and Koreatown to the west. For now though, the Central American bodegas and handsome but neglected apartment buildings vastly outnumbered the first few hipster coffee shops and new condos.

He'd wanted to familiarize himself with the place on the off-chance he'd have to invite any bad guys over, so he'd spent some time exploring the contents of the drawers and settling into the no-frills furniture. He'd identified secure hiding spaces for the earwigs and the second phone. Having tangible things to study had helped keep his mind off his family, who kept trying to sneak their way into his thoughts. While he was there, he'd also forced down a small meal to fuel his quest to track down Johnson and his crew.

Now as he rode his motorcycle down the 110 Freeway toward Torrance to the south, Deeks let the deafening roar of the Harley's engine push negative images and dark worries from his mind, and he contemplated his mission and considered the advice he'd received, particularly Callen's words of wisdom. Callen had recommended he approach Max like any other alias, so he spent the drive thinking about Max's motivations and mannerisms. Max was cold and ruthless, and he didn't have much of a sense of humor. And while he _could_ summon up a certain amount of charm with the ladies, in general he was quite sexist and liked women who knew their place. Max and Kensi would hate each other, he mused. He also thought about Max's temper, as well as how coolly he behaved right up to the point when he erupted.

By the time he pulled up at Godmother's Tavern, he had largely convinced himself he was up for the job, and told himself the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could go back to his real life. Unfortunately he found no sign of Johnson at the tavern, nor at the next bar he patronized in Long Beach. He decided to try his luck in San Pedro at the end of the road, literally.

Walker's Cafe sat at the southernmost tip of the entire city of Los Angeles, on a bluff just across the street from a tree-filled park overlooking the sea. Deeks remembered that from here on clear days, Santa Catalina Island always looked so close he thought he could swim the whole twenty-two miles across the channel. The café had started out in 1913 as a turn-around station for the Red Car train line that once blanketed the city. It then became a tavern named Cuddles before new owners renamed it Walker's after the second world war.

The idyllic setting had always struck Deeks as an odd place for bikers to gather, but the dive's greasy burgers and cold beer had combined with its land's end location to provide a fine post-ride destination after a spin around the hilly Palos Verdes Peninsula, of which San Pedro was a part. They'd been coming here for decades and on warm summer nights they spilled out of the small bar and gathered outside, on benches or just talking in clusters around their motorcycles.

He pulled his Harley up and parked alongside a row of other bikes. Without his earwig he had no way of confirming that the team was nearby, but he had absolute faith that they were. As he set down his helmet and ran both hands through his long, tousled hair, he heard the horn of a cruise ship leaving the harbor down below. Its melodic notes blew out the first line of "When You Wish Upon a Star," making it clear just who the ship belonged to, and he wryly noted to himself how far he was from Disneyland up here with the Walker's clientele. He strolled past the few men gathered outside in the cool evening air and under the café sign's two voluptuous mermaids to find out if Johnson might be inside.

He spotted him almost immediately. Deeks felt a sense of accomplishment at moving his mission forward, but it was accompanied by a tiny sliver of fear that sliced through his gut. Johnson sat at a table surrounded by a group of four men, all decked out in motorcycle gear and looking at home as they conversed over their beers.

Deeks stood in the doorway for a few moments until he caught Johnson's eye. He nodded at the man, who squinted at him, cocking his head to the side as if trying to figure out what Max was doing there. Deeks moved to the small bar area and asked for a beer. He sat at the lone open stool, nursing his beer and staring straight ahead at the old framed pin-up image of a swimsuit clad woman who'd probably hung on the wall since the café had been called Cuddles. Since Max wasn't a social butterfly, he rebuffed the few attempts at small talk made by the others sitting nearby. The place was so small, he could easily hear Johnson and his men laughing and joking with one another. Deeks was glad to see they didn't appear jumpy or on alert in any way. He thought it best to play it cool and sit and wait for Johnson to approach him.

* * *

Once Deeks had ridden away from the mission, Kensi had raced to pick up Derrick at the boatshed and take him home, calling her mother on the way about picking Delilah up from day care and arranging to spend the night. With Derrick, she'd tried her best to project an air of confidence about Deeks' assignment, but she thought he'd seen right through it. She'd told him that Deeks had taken on an important job that could protect a lot of people, and that she was proud of him. She'd also tried to reassure her son that his adoptive father had a strong team supporting him.

Derrick had worriedly asked her if she'd be working with Deeks and she'd let him know she'd be helping out from the "office," and that she needed to return there that evening to monitor activities. He'd looked sad and concerned but had told her he'd help the grandmothers with Delilah and Monty so Kensi could do what she needed to do. Sometimes his maturity saddened her, coming as it did from so much trauma. Her and Deeks' decisions to take safer jobs to minimize the chances of the boy losing yet another parent felt more important than ever as the risks of Deeks' current assignment - the danger it posed for her entire family - hit home.

Having grown all the more anxious to get back to work, she'd taken only a few minutes to play and snuggle with Delilah before she'd thanked her mother and driven back to the mission. She had planted herself in Ops, nearly unmoving, her eyes laser focused on Deeks' button cam footage as he'd moved from bar to bar in his search. Each step of the way, he'd told them his next destination, even suggesting good spots to set up overwatch at the ones he was familiar with. Hearing him calmly communicating, even though they couldn't respond, kept her calm too. She tried to detach herself from her worries and focus on the case as if it were any other, but she wasn't really succeeding.

Now as Deeks pulled into San Pedro, she listened as Nell, Callen, and Sam conferred about logistics. She assigned herself the role of overwatching the overwatch, and scrutinized each move they made to look for gaps or potential problems. Callen, along with FBI Special Agent Timmons, were traveling together in a beat-up Ford pick-up truck. They'd both dressed for potential impromptu undercover roles and carried their aliases' ID's. Nell directed them to a position parked on the street behind the café. They'd be close enough to come running on foot through a path along the bluff, but otherwise would remain completely out of sight of any of the clientele.

Sam waited in classic overwatch position in his Challenger, parked a few hundred yards down the street from where Deeks had parked his motorcycle. He had dispatched Ehsan and Nicole, who'd traveled in a third vehicle, on foot into the park. They took up a position as lovebirds snuggling together on a bench overlooking the ocean.

Kensi knew the café was a public place and Deeks was in no immediate danger. If anything, this level of overwatch was overkill. But she was grateful for the all-out support, and she knew it meant a lot to Deeks too.

* * *

As he neared the end of his second beer, the seat next to Deeks finally opened up, and Johnson made his way over and sat down beside him. Deeks' heartrate picked up speed but he forced himself to breath slowly and calmly, knowing Max wouldn't be intimidated by the presence of a killer like Johnson. Up close he could see that Johnson's full head of close-cropped hair had begun to show flecks of grey that belied his still young forty-three years, and his short frame was more powerfully built than Deeks remembered. He figured Johnson's stint in prison might have given him time to bulk up. It also might have been the impetus for a few more tattoos. Deeks took in the small Nazi SS lightning bolts on the back of the fingers on his left hand that he didn't remember from before, and a W, L and M on the fingers of his right hand. Deeks knew they stood for White Lives Matter. What he couldn't see, but knew was there, was the huge tattoo on the man's chest of the striking silhouette of a large oak tree with several nooses hanging from its branches. It made Deeks nauseous to think about.

Johnson flirted with the older woman tending bar as if they'd known one another forever. He turned to Deeks, appraised him with humorless, piercing grey eyes and said, "Seeing you pop up here feels like a little more than a coincidence." Johnson had always exhibited a healthy dose of paranoia, one of the reasons LAPD had never been able to make a dent in his organization.

"It's nice to see you too, Benny," Deeks said dryly.

Johnson didn't appear to find Max's sarcasm entertaining. "What do you want?" he asked, seemingly having no patience for small talk.

"I ran into Ripley down on Skid Row. He said you might have some work for me."

"What were you doing down there?" Johnson questioned.

"I was looking for a buddy," Deeks told him, continuing the cover story he'd begun on the street with Ripley. "He got arrested for punching a cop and when he got out of jail he disappeared."

"Why do you care about him enough to try to track him down on Skid Row?"

"Because his swinging at the cop gave me a chance to get away." The team had sought a reason for Max to have been wandering around Skid Row searching for a friend, and decided that him wanting to thank this mystery person for keeping him out of trouble with LAPD would show off both his willingness to go against law enforcement and his loyalty to those he considered friends.

"You a wanted man, Max?" Johnson asked, almost imperceptibly pulling himself back, as if ready to bail on the whole conversation rather than risk Max bringing the law down on him.

Deeks needed to establish Max's bad boy cred without scaring Johnson away from employing him, yet he found himself sorely tempted to make a smart remark. He realized humor wasn't the way Max operated or what Johnson would respond to. Instead he said, "I'd say I was a person of interest, only the cops didn't get a good enough look at me to make an ID."

"A person of interest in what?" Johnson prodded.

By this point, Deeks felt a little like he was being cross-examined, and since Max had an even shorter temper than he did, he elected to let some of his own annoyance show.

"None of your damn business," Deeks told him, finishing his beer and slamming the bottle down on the counter, gesturing for another when the movement caught the bartender's attention.

Johnson sighed, and said, "Whatever, Max." He took a long swig of his own beer, then told him, "You want a job, then consider this your job interview. I need to know where you've been."

Deeks was ready with his backstory, and began, "You remember what happened to Nelson Sanders, back in 2011?"

"Yeah, he got taken down by the feds. As I recall, your old buddy Ray ratted him out. What a little rat fink snitch. I heard he got blown up by the Southland Kings. I just hope he didn't go quick." He continued to speak, acknowledging his gratitude to Ray for getting an African American competitor off the streets while describing Sanders using a series of racial slurs.

Deeks' stomach twisted at Johnson's language and at the idea of Ray actually being dead. He longed for some of Max's cold-heartedness to fill his soul and keep his true feelings at bay, but Max was still nowhere to be seen. He struggled to recall exactly how he had summoned Max on past assignments. All he remembered was that it hadn't been difficult. When Deeks had been forced to behave like a son of a bitch, like his father really, he'd plunged ahead, doing what was required to establish his cover, and the result had simply been that Max had materialized and taken charge. As Johnson continued his rant, Deeks thought to himself that maybe Max was just biding his time, waiting to emerge when Deeks had to hit or bully someone, or treat a woman like crap.

He had to play along with Johnson, so he tried to channel his hatred of the man and all he stood for into his reaction about Ray, saying, "The motherfucker turned on me too. I couldn't believe it. We'd been friends for years but the asshole just wanted to save his own hide. I got sent up for possession of stolen firearms. Got out of Beaumont fucking Texas just last year."

Surprisingly, Johnson expressed a little sympathy for Max, telling him, "Wow, that's cold, man. I remember how tight you two were. At least he's dead so you don't have to go looking for revenge."

"True," Deeks replied.

"But I'd also say," Johnson continued, "That's what you get when you work with men like Sanders."

Since Max wasn't racist, he chose not to reply. He merely chuckled and shook his head.

"What've you been doing since you got out?" Johnson continued the interview.

"I landed in Dallas, did some work for a few different people. There was a girl there who kept my attention for a while."

Johnson laughed out loud, saying, "Max Gentry found love!"

Deeks laughed briefly in return. He knew Max would blame the girlfriend for his failed relationship, and he tried to stay in character even as he dreaded what Kensi would think as she listened to him telling Johnson, "For a few weeks there, I actually thought I had. But she turned out to be just like every other woman I've ever known –a needy, manipulative bitch. I dumped her and headed back here. Been back since last month." Inwardly Deeks sent a psychic apology to Kensi, Nell and Nicole, knowing they were all likely hearing his words. As soon as he did, he also chastised himself for worrying about their opinions when he should be concentrating on what Max was thinking and feeling, and he implored himself to stay focused.

While Johnson rambled at length about how hard it was to find the right kind of woman, especially nowadays with that ridiculous Me Too movement, Deeks found himself becoming antsy, disgusted with the man's words and impatient to move things along. Max would be content to sit and drink the rest of the night, but he couldn't help himself and when Johnson paused in his rant, suggested, "So Ripley said you might have some work for someone with my, uh, skillset?"

Johnson looked annoyed to have his train of thought interrupted, and maybe a little surprised at Max's directness. He told him, "We are pretty busy these days, but I think we've got it all covered. I've got a lot of loyal men in my operation, true believers in the cause… You've never been a true believer, have you, Max?"

Deeks berated himself for pushing too hard. He tried to take a step back to ever-cool Max, and replied, "I've never been one for religion."

Johnson looked at him in total seriousness, saying, "It's not a religion. It's a calling. It's an honor, to be able to do what we're trying to do, to cleanse the world and make it safer and better for good, God-fearing people."

Deeks felt his skin crawl and tried to keep a neutral, uncaring expression on his face as he replied, "Religion, calling, it's all the same to me."

"Yeah, well to us it's the most important thing we'll ever do."

Deeks didn't know how Max would reply to that so he stayed silent and took another swig of his beer.

Johnson did the same, then told Max, "I have a lot going on in the next few weeks. Why don't you give me your number and if anything comes up that requires your services, I'll give you a call."

Deeks wanted to cry in frustration at his apparent failure to infiltrate the operation or even obtain any useful intel. He wanted to insist that Johnson take him up on his offer, but knew it would only annoy him further. Defeated, he quietly gave Johnson his number and said, "Sure Benny, sounds like a plan."

Johnson patted him on the back and returned to his group. Deeks stayed seated at the bar and ordered another beer. He wasn't sure if sticking around would help, but didn't think it would hurt. Plus, he dreaded leaving and having to face his disappointed team.

* * *

Callen sat listening to Deeks operate, and he winced when he heard Deeks push Johnson too hard, knowing it had been a mistake. His temporary partner Timmons said to him with his comms off, "He's blowing it."

Callen knew Timmons was right but couldn't help but back up his friend. "Give him a chance. Deeks is smart. He recognized his mistake already and backed off. Let's give it some more time." Callen wanted Deeks to succeed because of the high stakes, but also because Deeks would hold himself responsible if Johnson didn't take the bait. He didn't want him to have to carry that weight and knew it would be tough to convince him to let it go.

Timmons nodded and said nothing further, and they all waited to see if the operation would continue.

* * *

Deeks sat nursing his beer, considering the best way to at least plant some Overwatch gel on Johnson's bike before the Brothers left for the night. When he'd made it halfway through his bottle, he noticed a rise in activity behind him. Two new men had joined Johnson's group and their conversation immediately shifted from jovial and loud to serious and hushed. Then Johnson got up and stalked out with the newcomers. Deeks got up to use the bathroom and as he walked back to the bar, he caught a glimpse of Johnson in an intense conversation with the same two men outside across the street.

He resumed his seat and had just finished his beer when he was surprised to sense a presence right behind him. He turned to see Johnson standing there, assessing him, sizing him up in some way. Johnson's intense gaze gave Deeks the creeps and he fought to maintain an impassive expression. He wondered if he'd somehow been made and worried the team might have been discovered. He wished he had an earwig to know if anyone was in trouble. Keeping his expression schooled, he asked Johnson, "You need something?"

The man told him, "Something's come up. Why don't you come outside and I'll tell you more about it. I've got an errand for you to run."

The hairs on the back of Deeks' neck rose at the idea of walking into the unknown with Johnson. There were still plenty of people around, both inside and out, but the park across the street was plenty dark this time of night and lots of bad things could happen before his team could get to him. Still, he reminded himself about the amazing people who had his back, and got up to follow Johnson outside.

The shorter man put his hand on the back of Deeks' neck and steered him across the street and into the shadow-filled edges of the park. Three of his men trailed behind them. They all walked behind a pair of the park's massive fig trees and stopped. Deeks saw no other people about and heard only the gusting wind swirling in from the ocean. Every muscle in his body tensed and his adrenaline raced as he waited to learn his fate. He couldn't contain his tension but decided even Max would be suspicious under the circumstances. He stepped away from Johnson and turned to face the men, his hands curled into fists, ready to defend himself.

Johnson chuckled and said, "Not real trusting are you, Max? Come on, do we look like bad guys?" He looked at his men, who all laughed. Deeks wanted to turn and run, all the way down to the nearby beach where he could find solace in the cold waves, but he remained planted in front of them, hoping he had passed his job interview, and waiting to find out.

* * *

**A/N: FYI Walker's Cafe, with its mermaid sign and bikers, is a real place, and it really did start out named Cuddles. It does host plenty of bikers, but they seem to be a genial lot. It sits beside lovely Point Fermin Park, a wonderful place to take in the ocean breeze and the historic lighthouse, or to watch Shakespeare in the summertime. There is a Godmother's Saloon in San Pedro but as far as I know, no Godmother's Tavern in Torrance.**


	7. Know Your Enemy

**A/N: I have to tell you that I debated whether to post this chapter today. With all the darkness in the world, it feels wrong to add to it. Still, if I don't press ahead, I won't be able to get Deeks to the place I want him to be by story's end. So, here's where I provide a more adamant reminder about the story warnings mentioned back in Chapter 1. And if this doesn't sound like kind of thing you want to be reading right now, believe me I understand. This story will still be here for you when our real world darkness has passed.**

* * *

_Do you know the enemy?...  
__The insurgency will rise  
__When the blood's been sacrificed  
__Don't be blinded by the lies  
__In your eyes  
__Silence is the enemy  
__Against your urgency  
__So rally up the demons of your soul  
__Overthrow the effigies  
__The vast majority  
__While burning down the foreman of control…  
__Violence is an energy  
__Against the enemy well  
__Do you know your enemy?_

\- "Know Your Enemy," Green Day

**_. . ._**

As Deeks stood in the dark park facing Johnson and his men, he thought his pounding heart might literally jump out of his throat. He calculated his options and tried to determine the team's whereabouts and how best to extricate himself from the situation. He detected no one else but assumed they were out there, hidden within the park's deep shadows.

"Jesus Christ, Max, relax," Johnson told him, shaking his head in disgust. "You sure have gotten sensitive in your old age. I have a job for you, if you still want it… And if you think you're up for it. Unless maybe you're an informant like your buddy Ray? Or maybe you've just gone soft… You sure are paranoid anyway."

Deeks huffed out a relieved laugh. "You would know about paranoia, Benny. OK, fine, I do need work. What do you want me to do?"

"I need someone with your, shall we say, powers of persuasion. We found a guy snooping around our, uh, office, and we need to know who he is and what he knows. Are you up for a little head-splitting, Max?" Johnson asked in a challenging voice.

The proposition launched Deeks into a near out of body experience. He almost couldn't absorb the idea that he'd been invited to interrogate a man. Or in reality, to torture him for information. He didn't think Johnson could ask him to do anything worse. Where was Max? Why hadn't he stepped up yet to handle this situation? Had his alter ego abandoned him? He quickly pulled himself together and plunged ahead, not believing the words he heard coming out of his own mouth.

"Sure, sounds like old times. What's it pay?" Deeks asked, figuring he still needed to refrain from appearing overly eager.

As they negotiated a fee, Johnson offered a deal sweetener. "If this goes well, and the problem is taken care of _permanently_, then I don't see why it couldn't lead to a longer-term engagement."

It took all the self-control Deeks could summon to hide his horror at Johnson's implication that the encounter would end with an execution, not to mention the way he made it sound like part of an employment contract. Despite his churning emotions, he managed to keep his composure, telling Johnson, "Sure, that works for me."

Johnson then introduced Deeks to the two men who'd accompany him to their "office," or wherever it was they were holding their captive. He called the first one Sepp, a burly man with a receding hairline, a boxer's nose, and a surly demeanor who watched him silently. The second, whom he laughingly called Jameson, was Sepp's physical opposite, downright skinny, about thirty, with a thick head of black hair and friendly blue eyes. When he told Max, "Come on, it's not far. Just follow along, OK?" his warm Southern accent sounded out of place amid the rough crowd.

The men's apparent nicknames tempted Deeks to make a snarky remark as an outlet for the panic he felt, but he pulled it back, knowing Max would be all business, and simply replied, "Yeah."

The trio got on their bikes and headed out, Deeks following along with no idea of his destination.

* * *

Eric was all business as he sat at his keyboard monitoring the latest developments. As Deeks walked to his bike, unable to hear the team communicating, Eric listened as Sam directed Nicole and Ehsan to retreat from the flanking positions they'd taken on either side of the men in the park, and to make their way back to their vehicle, maintaining their cover as boyfriend and girlfriend, holding hands and taking their time.

He continued to monitor the facial recognition software looking for matches on the men inside Walker's. When Deeks had used the bathroom, he'd passed by Johnson's table and obtained fairly good shots of three of them. Unfortunately Sepp and Jameson's grainy images from the park were too dark to use in a search.

As Deeks pulled out, Eric assured everyone that his Overwatch signal was broadcasting loud and clear. He could practically feel Kensi's breath on the back of his neck and didn't even have to turn around to know she was verifying the signal's strength for herself. The team's three vehicles slowly moved out to tail Deeks, careful to remain far behind to avoid revealing their presence to any of Johnson's men.

Eric didn't know how the team would handle whatever awaited Deeks at the end of his ride, but he hoped with all his heart that his friend wouldn't be forced to do anything awful. Sure, sometimes maintaining a cover required his teammates to do unsavory things, but he'd never had to listen to them torture anyone. He wasn't sure if he could stomach it, but for now he concentrated on staying calm and doing what he could to prevent it from getting that far, all the while also hoping to keep Kensi's looming presence from exploding in his direction.

* * *

Deeks followed Sepp and Jameson back down from the bluffs and away from the sea. The din of his bike prevented him from communicating with Ops using his button cam, but even he could, he didn't know what he'd have said anyway. He felt trapped, with no clever ideas for freeing himself from his apparent fate and unsure what, if anything, the team might improvise on his behalf. Would they allow him to torture a man? Would they stand by while he killed someone?

He thought about Hetty and past assignments that had clearly illustrated that an agent came secondary to the mission, particularly when mass casualties could result. Hetty had been willing to sacrifice agents for the greater good in the past, and just because he was her favorite – or so he liked to joke – he couldn't underestimate her dedication to achieving her objectives.

As the bikes exited the frontage road running alongside the harbor's main channel and jumped onto the tall suspension bridge leading deeper into the port, his thoughts turned to Kensi there in Ops, and how she would do everything she could to prevent anything like that from happening. She knew all about his prior encounters with torture, how he had experienced both the giving and the receiving ends, and how both had scarred him.

But then he couldn't help but remember how Kensi had chosen the mission over his rescue in Sidorov's damn garage. It caused a small whiff of doubt to pass through his mind. He told himself it had happened before they were together, and their relationship had changed drastically since then. He trusted Kensi with everything and this time, she'd surely have his back. But, a little voice in his head reminded him, Kensi tended to err on the side of following the rules. As the daughter of a military man, she believed in the chain of command and followed that chain almost without question. Surely she'd buck it if he needed her to, right?

As the two bikes ahead of him wove their way through the light traffic on Terminal Island, which separated San Pedro and Long Beach, Deeks also mused that maybe this other man, this intruder, didn't even exist. That Johnson was having a joke at his expense, and maybe _he_ was the suspicious man about to be executed. He told himself to stop being so paranoid and tried to focus on his surroundings instead.

They had slowed considerably, turning off onto one of the few side roads that wound their way around the docks. They followed it to a vast, chained off parking lot he knew could be used to store an endless sea of containers, or to line up the trucks dropping off or picking up their loads. Now it lay empty. A series of individual containers haphazardly lined up around the edges created a makeshift, gap-filled fence that served more to screen views than keep out trespassers. Port operations ran 24/7, and much of the place remained brightly lit no matter the hour, but clearly this lot and its three giant cranes, standing sentry like skeletal dinosaurs, had been out of commission for some time. The whole place was dark, isolated and downright creepy.

Sepp and Jameson drove around the side of the chain and into the lot and Deeks followed. At the far end sat a trailer like the kind used on construction sites, with a grey Camaro parked in front. They pulled up alongside the car and shut off their engines. Deeks knew he had to go inside but, for the umpteenth time in the last 12 hours, everything in him exhorted him to turn around and drive away. Instead he removed his helmet and slowly ran both hands through his hair before turning to ask Jameson, "This your office?"

The man replied, "Nah, our office is in Wilmington. This is just a place we use sometimes for, um, sensitive operations." Sepp barely glanced their way and headed inside. Deeks and Jameson followed, Deeks lagging ever so slightly behind so as not to be surrounded once they got inside, and preparing to draw his weapon if he needed to defend himself.

* * *

Sam's Challenger led the trio of vehicles trailing Deeks. He slowed as he passed the lot, catching a glimpse of the trailer at the far end. He kept moving though, not wanting to generate any suspicion, and pulled into the next available driveway, which turned out to be a small port operations building with a parking lot in front. He waited for the others to pull in and they all exited their vehicles to confer.

The desire to help Deeks consumed Sam. Johnson's reference to torture had triggered his own bad memories that included the high price Deeks had paid to keep him and Michelle safe. Deeks had always presented a carefree attitude to the world, one of the reasons it took Sam so long before he fully trusted him, before he truly understood how seriously he took his job. Sam had learned that the happy-go-lucky joker Deeks wanted everyone to see functioned as a front for the serious and extremely sensitive man who hid beneath. He knew what it would cost Deeks if he had to hurt someone to maintain his cover. He wasn't sure if his friend could even go through with it, which made him even more anxious to be ready to move in should Deeks reveal himself to Johnson's men.

When the group began discussing options, Sam suggested he could swim over to position himself behind the trailer. Callen nixed the idea, pointing out that he might not find a way up onto the dock. After spitballing alternate approaches, they elected to split up. Timmons took Sam and dropped him off on one side of the lot, while Nicole dropped Ehsan off on the other.

Both cars pulled away and Sam and Ehsan hurried to position themselves as close as they could to the trailer. Sam worked his way along the side of the lot that faced the water, trying to stay hidden behind various crates and pieces of equipment. He worked his way right up to the trailer's side and waited. He listened as Ehsan reported his progress via a drainage ditch that kept him out of sight until the last fifty feet. Sam whispered for Ehsan to stay put there rather than risk being seen moving closer, and he prepared to breach.

* * *

A single floor lamp in the trailer's far corner provided the only lighting in the cool interior, and Deeks was grateful that he could barely make out the sight before him. A stocky man with curly dark hair who looked to be in his late twenties sat tied to a chair in the center of the sparsely furnished room, slumped over, either unconscious or already dead. Bruises and burns covered his shirtless torso. Deeks struggled for breath, suffocating under the smell of blood and sweat and the rushing flood of memories of his own experience tied to a chair and the unendurable pain and unbearable despair that accompanied it.

As he looked on and attempted to pull himself away from the oncoming flashback, another man stepped forward from the shadows. "Who's this?" the man asked. Tall and lanky, his sandy blond hair and big ears gave him a goofy look, which was hard to reconcile with the apparent evidence of his sadistic behavior.

"This is Max," said Jameson. "He's an old employee of Benny's who showed up tonight lookin' for work. Benny told 'im he could help us get information out of our guest here, and that he would dispose of 'im when we're done." Jameson eyed the man in the chair and added, "Benny's not gonna be happy that you started without us, but I guess he won't be too surprised neither."

"Mmm," the man replied. "Well, I was just about to wake up our visitor and try again. He hasn't said anything yet, so I figure he's gotta be a cop. Anyone else woulda been begging for mercy by now." Deeks was struck by the man's complete lack of empathy, as if he were a scientist talking dispassionately about a lab rat.

As Deeks watched, they attempted to rouse their captive. When he failed to respond, Jameson suggested they douse him with water and sent Sepp to retrieve a bucketful from the small kitchenette. Deeks couldn't decide if he preferred the man to remain unconscious, knowing they might expect him to shoot him on the spot, or if he wanted him to wake up, postponing the execution but prompting the torture. All he knew was that he needed his team to do something – anything – to bring this nightmare to a stop.

He wanted Ehsan to show up as a pizza delivery guy, or Callen and Nicole to appear as drunk tourists, but nothing he could think of as a potential distraction would make any sense. They would all blow his cover. Even if they managed to safely take these three men into custody, it would send Johnson underground and the weapons might never be recovered. He recognized that he needed to play along, but it didn't stop him from hoping for an inventive solution from his team, a way to escape the path he saw laid out for him in this dark room with these hateful men.

* * *

Once Deeks had received his assignment from Johnson, Hetty had joined the others up in Ops. She could see that although Kensi sat quietly, she was like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt. Hetty's own heart sank at the position in which Deeks found himself. She saw him as a gentle soul who despised the violent part of himself that Max embodied, and if he participated in torturing this man, it would no doubt affect him greatly.

The decision to allow the mission to continue weighed heavily on her. Many lives were at stake, and their best chance for preventing a massacre continued to entail Deeks doing anything necessary to maintain his cover. Her job required her to make tough calls like this, and she realized there wouldn't be enough fine Scotch in her cabinet to keep images of Deeks' pained face out of her thoughts when this night was over. Yet she knew it was the right thing to do.

Kensi walked over and stood directly in front of her, looking down and declaring in an eerily quiet and deadly serious voice, "Hetty, you cannot let him do this."

"Ms. Blye," she stated kindly, "I'm certainly open to suggestions for how to ensure Mr. Deeks maintains his cover without harming anyone." She gestured to Eric to put her on comms and announced to the group, "If anyone has any brilliant ideas, feel free to share. Otherwise, I'm afraid I need you all to stand down and let this play out. It is imperative that Mr. Deeks establish this cover."

Hetty particularly worried over Sam going rogue to help his friend. Even though he normally followed orders without hesitation, she thought he might invent a reason to interfere in the operation. Wanting to ensure her directive had been clear, she asked, "Mr. Hanna, that is an order. Do you copy?"

After a long pause, she heard Sam's reluctant whisper of "Roger, Hetty."

She'd barely breathed out a relieved sigh when Kensi tried again, this time with clear anger in her tone and her eyes blazing dangerously. "Hetty. This isn't right. Deeks isn't even an agent. We've _got_ to pull him out. We'll find another way."

Hetty tried to maintain an air of calm, hoping to keep the confrontation from escalating further. "My dear, I'm very sorry," she told her sincerely. "Trust me, I do not want to have to do this. I believe it is the only way."

"It can't be the only way!" Kensi said fiercely. "Dammit, Hetty, don't do this!"

"Ms. Blye," she replied, her own voice escalating. "If you cannot offer _constructive_ suggestions, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room."

Hetty thought she read hatred in Kensi's eyes. She watched as the younger woman stalked away and started pacing back and forth like a caged tigress in front of the button cam footage. She accepted the hatred, if that's what it was. It came with making the tough decisions. It was the price she paid for doing the job few others could, for protecting those who couldn't protect themselves.

* * *

As Deeks waited to see if the man in the chair would wake up, he heard the distant screeching of metal on metal as a train rumbled away from the port. The sound sparked fresh memories of whirring drills and unending pain. How could he become the Sidorov in this situation? How could he bring himself to hurt someone so cruelly? He fought off the urge to puke and silently cursed Max for abandoning him, for leaving him to handle this situation on his own.

Fortunately or unfortunately for Deeks, the bound man before him regained consciousness, sputtering water from his mouth and looking around in panic at the sight of additional tormenters. Deeks studied his pained expression and tried to ascertain whether or not he could be an undercover police officer or federal agent. Shit, maybe they should have checked in with LAPD after all. All he could discern though was fear and resignation. He sent the man a plethora of silent apologies as his mind raced to invent a creative way to save him.

The big-eared man with no name pulled Deeks from his thoughts, saying with no small amount of excitement in his voice, "Hey, I got it. Let's waterboard him."

Again Deeks' insides twisted into such convoluted knots that he couldn't breathe. How could he participate in this? He didn't think he could. This time different memories assaulted him, feelings of overwhelming shame and horror of another time when he was the Sidorov. Shit, shit, shit, he told himself. He silently pleaded with the team to help him, to do something, anything, but he was met with silence.

Jameson turned to look at him, frowned at what he saw, and asked, "What do you say, Max? Ever waterboarded anyone? Think it's worth a shot?"

Deeks was grateful for the deep shadows in the back of the room where he stood, because he didn't think the men could see the tears in his eyes. He frantically fought to stop them from falling. He again cursed Max for his unwillingness to come forward and take over. On past assignments as Max, when called upon to keep up his reputation as a son of a bitch, Max had jumped to the forefront of Deeks' consciousness. It wasn't as if he had a true split personality, but channeling Max had allowed him to take an emotional step back, to act from a slight remove, and in the end, to not feel the godawful pain he was feeling now.

He struggled to come up with an alternative. He didn't want to do more physical damage to the man, especially anything that might cause permanent harm. The dental torture he had experienced flashed through his mind, but just as quickly he sent it back out. He wouldn't wish that pain on anyone and he couldn't possibly carry it out, or even bear to listen to the associated sounds. Everything else he could think of would be more physically harmful. He heard Jameson repeat his name and finally replied, "Actually, I have waterboarded someone before. How about you?"

"Nope, not me," said Jameson, although he didn't appear bothered by the idea. The other men shook their heads as well.

Deeks heard himself tell them in a quiet voice, "We'll need another bucket of water and a towel." He could have sworn he saw the big-eared man smile before he turned to retrieve the needed supplies.

The man in the chair sat silently, shaking his head in denial and begging with his eyes. Deeks wished he could communicate to him that coming clean, giving them some sort of story, would prevent a lot of unnecessary pain. It would end the pain for them both.

No matter what, he was certain he couldn't kill him, regardless of the cost to the mission or to himself. A plan had formed to tell the others he wanted to move the man somewhere else to carry out the execution. He just hoped that his team would at least be ready to back him up if the plan was rejected and they insisted he do it then and there. He tried to focus on getting the man out alive, and on hoping that he might someday be able to forgive him. He knew he would never forgive himself. He still hadn't forgiven himself for the cleric. This was just one more unforgivable offense in a shameful line of misdeeds that would haunt him for eternity.

He knelt down in front of the man, close enough to see him shivering and to really take in the damage he'd already suffered. He told him what was going to happen, and how if he just told them who he was, they'd make the pain stop. The man said, "My name is Manny James. I told him already. I wasn't doing anything. I just cut through the lot on my way to the bus stop, and their bikes caught my eye. I didn't even touch 'em. Please, let me go and I promise I won't report anything. Please, I have a family, I have kids."

At the mention of family and children, Deeks cringed. He immediately pictured his own family, and he thought about how appalled Derrick would be by his behavior, how ashamed he would be of his adoptive father. He thought about their conversation earlier in the day about wanting his family to feel proud of him, and he knew they would only feel disgust.

When the smiling man returned with the supplies, Deeks asked him his name. "You can call me Dexter," he said. Deeks wondered if it was yet another nickname, and thought of the TV serial killer with an outwardly mild-mannered appearance, deciding it would be an apt choice.

He instructed Dexter to help him lean the chair backwards, propping up the legs so Manny's head was below his lungs. And then they did it. They did it together. They did what Deeks had never for a single second ever thought possible for him to do ever again. At one point, Deeks purposely splashed the water around so that at least a few drops landed on his face, providing a way to camouflage his tears. For the first two rounds, the man stuck to his story, begging them for mercy. Deeks knew that no matter how long he lived, his nightmares would feature those pleas.

After the third round Manny broke. He told them he was a Homeland Security agent, and that he'd been tasked to check out their operation. He claimed they had yet to discover any useful intel. Dexter insisted on one more round to make sure he was telling them everything, and once it was done, Manny promised he had shared it all and begged them to just go ahead and kill him.

"I think we're done," Deeks told them, knowing he'd surpassed his own limits for inflicting pain and hoping they'd agree to stop.

Jameson stood back and nodded his head in agreement, but reminded him, "There's one more thing on your to do list, Max. Benny requested a permanent solution to our problem here, remember?"

* * *

**A/N: I'm so sorry! In my defense, I never planned for Deeks to waterboard the undercover officer, just to rough him up. But when I got here, waterboarding really did seem like the least harmful option for poor Manny. I take full responsibility for the chapter's contents, but want to give a huge thanks to Sweet Lu for helping me figure out how to approach getting it written. **

**Again, my apologies. And stay safe and take care of one another out there!**


	8. I Don't Care

**_A/N: Thanks to all who've left encouraging reviews so far, including those guest reviewers to whom I'm unable to reply, including French Fan - stay safe mon ami!_**

* * *

_I don't care if you don't care…  
__Everyone is so full of shit  
__Born and raised by hypocrites  
__Hearts recycled but never saved  
__From the cradle to the grave  
__We are the kids of war and peace  
__From Anaheim to the Middle East…  
__Land of make believe and it don't believe in me  
__And I don't care_

\- "I Don't Care," Pt. III of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

**. . .**

At Jameson's reminder that Max was expected to kill their Homeland Security captive - as if he could forget - Deeks nodded his head, wiping water and tears away from his face and stating with as much authority as he could summon, "Yeah, you're right. Only I'm not gonna to do it here in front of so many witnesses, where all the physical evidence could be found. What if Homeland Security really does have more men out there? Help me throw him in the trunk and then I'll drive him somewhere else to do it. I've got just the place in mind."

"We'll follow along," said Jameson.

"No," replied Deeks immediately. "Those bikes are too goddamn loud and attract too much attention. No way." He held his breath as he awaited their response, wanting to reduce their numbers but realizing they were unlikely to let him go alone.

"Alright," said Jameson agreeably. "I'll come with you in the car." Dexter appeared about to argue but Jameson cut him off, saying, "I know Dexter, you're disappointed. But you weren't supposed to touch the guy until we got here, and I think you've done enough for one night. Max is right, this needs to happen quietly. Take my bike and we can trade back tomorrow afternoon."

While Jameson and Dexter traded keys, Deeks stepped toward Manny, who gazed at him with defeat in his eyes. They needed to keep him quiet while they drove, and he knew Manny would be better off if he made it happen rather than Dexter, so he pulled out his gun, turned it backwards in his hand, and smacked Manny in the head. He tried to put just enough force into his swing to daze him long enough to load him into the trunk, but still, the sound of the heavy metal weapon thumping into the man's skull caused Deeks' stomach to heave.

Once he confirmed that Manny appeared unconscious, he pulled out his knife, untied him from the chair, and began retying his arms and legs. Dexter joined in, adding a gag for good measure, and he and Sepp dragged Manny outside and folded him into the Camaro's trunk.

Jameson told him, "I'll drive," and Deeks didn't think he could argue.

"Just keep it under the speed limit, OK?" he directed. As he stepped around to the passenger side, he thought he heard sea lions in the distance, their barks carrying over the open water and appearing to mock his good intentions. He sighed, plopped into car, and instructed Jameson to head for the 405 Freeway going north.

By this point Deeks was completely exhausted. He found it difficult to concentrate on being Max and hard to focus on the mission. He wanted nothing more than to hightail it home and crawl into his own bed to try to process what he'd just done. He reminded himself that in order to get back to his _own_ bed in his _own_ home, he needed to stay alive and finish the damn mission.

So once Jameson turned down the heavy metal that Dexter had set to blast level on the Camaro's sound system, Deeks pushed ahead, rubbing a hand up and down over his beard in an effort to revive himself before starting some small talk, asking, "So is this just a typical Thursday night for you guys?"

Jameson laughed, replying, "Nah, not really. We do have our share of excitement, but it rarely involves quite so much cryin'. I have to say though, that when persuasion is called for, Dexter is always the first to volunteer."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. What he lacks in smarts he makes up for in enthusiasm, yeah?... Is that how he got his nickname?"

Again Jameson laughed softly, telling Deeks, "Yep. I think Benny sees himself like TV Dexter's father, givin' Dexter some structure… an outlet for his urges that keeps him outta prison."

"They've known each other a long time," Deeks surmised.

"Awhile, I think. He was runnin' with some Aryans in Arizona before he fell in with Benny."

"I assume Sepp's a nickname too?"

"Yeah," replied Jameson. "It's a German nickname for Joseph."

"Is he German?" Deeks asked.

Jameson chuckled. "I don't actually know. He's not exactly the talkative type. I think Benny just likes to use German names. He even uses German phrases when he's preachin' to his men."

"I see. Sepp looks like he's done a lot of boxing in his time," Deeks guessed based on the man's build and misshapen nose.

"Yeah, I think he boxed when he was younger," Jameson said. "Tried to keep goin' when he got into the Army, but I'm not sure he got too far."

"He not good enough?" Deeks asked, "Or did the Army just not agree with him?"

"Good question," replied Jameson. "I don't think he liked followin' orders. At some point he and Johnson crossed paths there, so when Sepp got out, he came down to L.A. and looked him up."

"And what about you?" Deeks asked.

"What about me?" Jameson shot back in a pleasant but firm voice, apparently unwilling to continue spilling information.

"I was just wondering about your nickname," Deeks told him, steering the conversation away from any sensitive topics.

"Benny gave it to me. It's on account of my Irish heritage, and how whiskey is my drink of choice."

Deeks sat quietly, mulling over whether he could push Jameson for any useful information on the group or the stolen weapons. He elected to stick to the small talk and said, "You don't exactly speak like somebody from Ireland."

Jameson smiled and replied, "Nah, can't say that I do. I'm from a little town called Ellijay, Georgia, the Apple Capital of the state."

"Ah," Deeks said with a laugh, "Now that does sound about right."

After a few minutes Jameson asked him, "And what about you?"

"Me?" Deeks replied. "No nickname. Max is the name my daddy gave me. I'm from the San Fernando Valley, born and raised right here in Los Angeles... And my drink of choice is good old Kentucky bourbon."

"From the heartland of America," Jameson added.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Deeks replied.

"So how'd you and Benny meet before?"

"I did some work for one of his competitors, brokered some small arms deals between 'em. Later I worked for Benny, doing protection detail type work."

"Work like we're doin' tonight?"

"Sorta, yeah," Deeks replied, knowing that, as Max anyway, he had never done anything as reprehensible as what he'd just done to Manny.

"But you're not a believer in our cause," Jameson more stated than asked.

"Nah, sorry man. The only cause I believe in is whatever's gonna put food on the table for one Max Gentry." Deeks tried to use Jameson's question as an opening, probing ever so gently, "I do admire your commitment to your beliefs though."

"It's important," Jameson replied. "If we don't do somethin' to stop it, white Americans will become a dyin' breed. Our way of life will be snuffed out by all the other people who don't belong here. Diversity equals white genocide."

Deeks refrained from pointing out that whites were not exactly the first group of people to call North America their home. Instead he prompted Jameson further, asking, "So what's the alternative? How do you stop it from happening?"

Jameson turned to look at him with a serious expression before moving his eyes back to the road and telling him, "We fight. We lead a revolution. We cleanse Southern California and turn it into our base of operations. We take over the controls of government _and_ the military. We change the world back to what it should be."

Deeks wondered how Jameson had come to believe such crap. He asked, "Is that what you learned growing up?"

Jameson sighed and told Deeks, "I learned a lotta things growin' up. One of 'em was how colored people should know their place, and how the Confederate Army was defeated by race traitors who didn't realize what they were doin', the trouble they were bringin' down on the world. And now we've got to set things right."

"Your daddy teach you that?"

Jameson huffed out a bitter sounding laugh and replied, "My daddy taught me a lotta things. How to shoot, how to punch… how to take a punch. The bastard died when I was seven. My granddaddy, on the other hand, he was a great man. He taught me to fight for what I believe in... to fight for what's right."

Deeks knew he should delve deeper into Jameson's relationship with his father, to share what he – what Max – had in common, but he no longer wanted to keep pushing, too tired to start sharing Max's childhood. Stifling a yawn, he tried again to see if he could get Jameson to reveal anything about the weapons. He offered, "To lead a revolution, you need a lot of guns. Maybe my services would come in handy for more than tonight."

"Hmmm," Jameson said, "Yeah, maybe."

Deeks' exhaustion had completely eroded his desire to push further, and he sat back and gazed out the window as they drove up the 405 Freeway past the airport, allowing images and sounds from the dark trailer to flood into his consciousness. He quickly exhorted himself to quit dwelling on what had just happened and focus on what he needed to do to keep Manny alive.

Knowing the team was listening, Deeks asked Jameson, "You ever drive up along Mulholland Drive?"

"No. Where's that?"

Deeks explained, "It's a windy road that goes along the top of the Santa Monica Mountains. Some spots you can see out over L.A., and in other places you can see out over the Valley. Just west of the 405 where Mulholland ends, there's a fire road. It's pretty quiet up there. Barring any unforeseen _interruptions_," he hesitated after the word, hoping the team would understand his meaning, "I should be able to shoot Manny in the head without anybody noticing, and we can bury him and call it a night. No place in L.A. is totally remote, but I really don't feel like driving all the way up into the Angeles National Forest tonight." Deeks thought about the man bound and gagged in the trunk of the car and hoped he was still alive.

"It's your party, Max, whatever you say," Jameson replied easily. Deeks breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't sharing this assignment with Dexter.

* * *

As soon as Deeks had revealed his destination, the three vehicles trailing him had picked up speed and passed him and Jameson as they neared Westwood and began the climb up the Sepulveda Pass. Nicole listened as Callen and Sam improvised a plan out of thin air and heard Nell arranging for an LAPD cruiser to rendezvous with them as soon as they exited the freeway. She was grateful they'd found a possible way out of the mess this evening had become, and she was anxious to play her own small part to support Deeks.

Before she came to work full-time with the team, she'd always enjoyed her brief stints working alongside him, but she hadn't gotten to know him well. Once she'd joined them and partnered with Kensi, she'd spent much more time with them on her off-hours. She'd watched him embrace fatherhood with Derrick and heard Kensi talk about the happiness he'd found even before they added adorable Delilah to their family. Nicole loved seeing how much that small child had Deeks wrapped around her little finger.

As the evening had devolved into horror, it had taken all the discipline she possessed to remain composed on overwatch as the rest of her team fought to keep their extreme anxiety under control while they watched their friend endure a terrible experience. She'd never seen anything like what Deeks had had to do and she found herself wondering what she'd have done in his position. She had no idea, but she admired his strength and ability to fight through the situation to keep the captured man alive and his cover intact. She also knew the sounds of Manny pleading for them to stop would haunt her own dreams for the foreseeable future.

Though Nell and Eric were investigating Manny using facial rec software as well as the full name he'd provided, they'd yet to locate him in any federal databases. Whether he was a law enforcement officer or just an innocent bystander, Nicole hoped they'd be able to provide Deeks with the right support to help get him to safety.

She looked over at her partner, his eyes focused on the road, and knew he might be uncomfortable with the role they were being asked to play. She saw Ehsan as a little brother. They'd become close immediately upon his joining the team. He was earnest and brave and continually striving to improve his skills, and he'd always had her back in the field. She was confident he'd follow Callen's order without question, understanding it was a good plan, even if it meant a few moments of discomfort for them both.

* * *

Deeks continued to provide directions as he and Jameson made their way up the freeway until they neared the top of the pass and finally exited onto Mulholland. When they got to the end, they turned off onto the dirt fire road that led further up into the mountains. They slowed dramatically as Jameson led the Camaro up the narrow, bumpy track. They had left the street lights behind, and the farther they went the darker it got on this moonless night.

They rounded a bend and saw a familiar-looking black Challenger parked on the side of the road, its windows fogged up. As they approached the vehicle, their headlights flashed on a woman who had popped up in the back seat with a surprised expression on her face. She appeared to be naked and held her shirt in front of her chest. A similarly unclothed and surprised man sat up behind her.

Jameson remarked with a laugh, "Wow, didn't think you could fit two lovebirds in the back of one of those things."

Deeks chuckled, remembering all the times he had folded himself up like a pretzel to ride along with Sam and Callen. "Seriously. I bet the guy she's with is only five foot two." When Deeks had seen the Challenger whizzing past them on the 405, he'd felt an immediate sense of comfort from the confirmation that the team was indeed still with him and getting into place to put some sort of plan in motion. Now that he saw Nicole and Ehsan playing their parts, he began to guess at what Callen had in mind and he prepared himself accordingly.

"Hah! Yeah, maybe," Jameson replied, laughing at Max's joke. "How far up do you think we need to go?"

"Not far," Deeks said. "I don't have to use my gun- there are quieter ways to finish things." No matter what, he would never hurt Manny again, and his back-up plan if the team's gambit didn't work would be to arrest Jameson and see if he'd give up any useful information on the weapons' location. If Jameson wouldn't go willingly, Deeks wouldn't hesitate to defend Manny and himself from the man.

Jameson nodded and kept driving. They bumped and slid their way along a set of switchbacks up the mountainside, the Camaro not exactly prepared for the terrain. They didn't actually travel too far, as the crow flies, from the Challenger down below them. After a short time, they reached a relatively level area and Deeks had Jameson pull over.

Deeks got out, on high alert for the possibility that Jameson might attack him. The man seemed affable enough, easy going in his own hateful way. But if Deeks hadn't passed their test, Jameson might have been ordered to take him out along with Manny. He had to be ready for absolutely anything, and his surging adrenaline caused his heart to race as he prepared himself.

Jameson shut off the engine and the headlights and got out of the car. Darkness engulfed them, the only illumination coming from the collective lights of the distant city. Deeks listened for any signs of other vehicles but heard only the drone of the distant freeway and the low hum of insects all around them on the hillside.

Jameson opened the trunk, triggering its light, and Deeks peered inside, anxious to confirm that Manny was still breathing. The relief he felt to see him alive was overtaken by the horror that hit him at seeing him conscious and looking straight at him. Taking in the fear in his eyes, Deeks was struck by the full force of the violence he had perpetrated on this poor man, and the shame of it almost brought him to his knees.

Jameson didn't seem disturbed and stepped past Deeks to begin pulling Manny from the trunk. Deeks moved forward to assist, and together they hauled him well off the road and behind a stand of scrub bushes, the branches dragging against their clothing as they pushed their way through. Jameson dropped Manny's legs, but Deeks found himself lowering the man's upper body more carefully. He heard Jameson laughing, and saying, "Geez, Max, I don't think it's gonna matter if he gets a few more bruises."

Deeks realized his mistake, and looked up at Jameson, trying to laugh along with him, and agreeing, "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

At the perfect moment, the chirp of a police vehicle made its presence known below them, followed by a voice on a loudspeaker saying, "Exit your vehicle." Deeks seized the opportunity he knew his team had provided, telling Jameson with all the urgency he could muster, "The cops are probably rousting that couple in the Challenger. I don't like this. Go back to the car and get it turned around. Keep the headlights off. I'll finish this quietly," he said, gesturing in Manny's direction, "and be right behind you."

Jameson didn't need to be told twice, and turned for the car. Deeks wouldn't have been surprised if he took off without him. On the off-chance that Jameson would return, he knelt down behind Manny, who looked like he was trying to determine if screaming for the cops below would do him any good. He wrapped his arms around him as if to choke him, and whispered in his ear, "Don't make a sound. I'm a federal agent - that's my team below. They're monitoring me and they'll know exactly where you are. Don't try to move – just play dead. I've gotta go... Don't blow my cover, help is on the way."

It felt so good to provide a small moment's comfort to the man he had terrorized. His oddly intimate position felt more like a hug than a violent act, and Deeks moved one hand up to tentatively pat Manny's cheek as he added, "And I'm sorry. More sorry than I can begin to express." With that, he stood, setting Manny back down on the ground, and began backing away, thankful to see him remaining still and quiet. Then he turned and jogged back toward the car.

He was both relieved and sorry to see Jameson waiting for him with the engine running and the headlights off. He hoped this little deception cemented his cover, but if Jameson had left him behind, he wouldn't have been sorry to head home with the team tonight rather than having to return to Max's apartment.

"We didn't get a chance to bury him," Jameson said in a worried voice.

"It won't matter," Deeks said. "The coyotes, hell maybe even the mountain lions, will take care of him." By the time they got back down to where the Challenger had been parked, it had disappeared, as had the police vehicle.

The incredible relief flooding through Deeks made his fatigue all the more palpable, and he found himself nodding off in the warm car as they drove back south to the port. At one point he remembered he had the Overwatch gel, so he furtively applied some to the underside of the Camaro's passenger seat. Jameson dropped him off at his bike and Deeks climbed on for the drive back up toward downtown. Why did everything in L.A. have to be so spread out?

As he headed up the now nearly deserted Harbor Freeway, his actions on the evening settled deep into his bones. For whatever the reason, Max was gone, and he had had to torture Manny on his own with no buffer between his undercover alias and his own heart. The profound sadness and self-hatred he felt outweighed by orders of magnitude any satisfaction he might have enjoyed at successfully infiltrating the Brothers of the Rope.

The Marty Deeks who'd spent the morning with his son, happily helping others, seemed infinitely far away, as if he were an altogether different person. Shooting his dad, killing Boyle, the cleric, and now Manny. He ran through the long list of contemptible acts he had committed in his life, and bitterly wondered how he'd ever believed he deserved to be happy when he'd done so many horrid things to hurt other people. His self-loathing made him literally sick to his stomach, and when he got back to the Pico Union District and parked his motorcycle, he vomited in the street.

He got upstairs to his shabby apartment and quickly checked to ensure there had been no intruders while he was out. He didn't know whether to crawl into bed, break down in tears, or try to physically wash away some of his sins in the shower. He paced back and forth across his small living room, his hands repeatedly running through his hair and gripping the back of his neck in frustration. He was utterly lost, and decided to reach out to the one person he thought had a chance of rescuing him from his downward spiral. Not stopping to second-guess his decision, he took out his phone and sent a hurried text.

_Hey baby, I know it's late, but I was wondering if you felt like coming over? I could use the company._

* * *

**A/N: The reference to coyotes is in tribute to my good friend Sweet Lu's epic story "Vengeance," my all-time favorite fan fic.**


	9. Extraordinary Girl

_She's an extraordinary girl  
__In an ordinary world  
__And she can't seem to get away  
__He lacks the courage in his mind  
__Like a child left behind  
__Like a pet left in the rain  
__She's all alone again  
__Wiping the tears from her eyes  
__Some days he feels like dying  
__She gets so sick of crying_

\- "Extraordinary Girl," Green Day

**_. . ._**

It was one in the morning by the time Kensi arrived at Max Gentry's apartment. When she'd received his text, she'd still been at the mission, waiting to make sure he got safely to his cover home before she returned to their real one. His message had shaken her, for she knew he would never have reached out to pull her into the op unless something was very wrong. She could only imagine his distress after the night he'd had. Given his propensity to blame himself for events beyond his control, she assumed – or hoped anyway - he was sitting alone in his apartment berating himself for Manny. The alternative, that he might be in physical danger, was too terrifying to contemplate. Either way, she couldn't get to him quickly enough.

She'd rushed to wardrobe for some boots and a leather jacket while Nell had pulled together a quick ID, and then she'd raced through the empty streets toward Max's neighborhood near downtown. She knocked quietly, mulling over how inconspicuously she could pick the lock if Deeks didn't come to the door. She had just raised her hand to try again when it opened. In case Johnson had the place staked out, she'd been prepared to play the part of a party girl making a late-night booty call, but the sight of Deeks' bloodshot blue eyes and lost expression made her catch her breath. She stumbled out a loud, "Hey, Max," before walking inside and quickly shutting the door.

Deeks stood in place in the hallway in jeans and t-shirt, no sign of his Max Gentry jacket, and she tentatively ran both hands up his arms to his neck and pulled him in for a gentle hug. She whispered in his ear, "Are we safe here?"

He laughed bitterly at what he took as a partly rhetorical question, but told her, "No one's listening. No one's been inside."

His demeanor worried her and she deepened the hug and told him in a shaky voice, "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

He pulled away and walked back into the small living room, running his hands through his hair before resting them on his hips as he turned back in her direction exhaling a, "Yeah, no, I get it." He was clearly trying to hold back tears and stared at her, shaking his head, seemingly trying to decide what to say next. The pain in his eyes brought tears to her own and she sought to comfort him, walking toward him and saying, "Deeks-"

He held his hand up to keep her at bay so she stopped. He blew out another of his hopefully calming breaths and said, "I get it. The agent is secondary to the mission. Always has been, always will be…" He looked down and ran his hand to clutch at the hair at the back of his head before he looked back up at her. "Was Hetty prepared to let me shoot the guy? You got him, right? Is he gonna be OK?"

Kensi quickly nodded but before she could tell him more, he continued, "Son of a bitch, Kensi. I thought you guys would have my back. I thought _you_ would-." He stopped mid-sentence, but Kensi knew what he was thinking. "I'm sorry," he continued. "I just, I don't know how to deal with this. I feel like I've lost myself. I'm so pissed that I had to do that and I know it's not your fault but my mind just keeps racing trying to make sense of it all and I don't know how… I just don't know," he said, ending his stream of consciousness.

He may have told her she wasn't responsible, but Kensi knew he still held her at least somewhat accountable, just as she held herself at fault for not finding a way to stop what had happened. "I tried, Deeks," she told him as silent tears trailed down her face. "We all tried to come up with something, some distraction that wouldn't have blown your cover. I begged Hetty to just move in and take the whole thing down but we weren't sure it would even be safe to breach. You could have been killed in the crossfire or they could have made you as an agent. You have to believe me that we did everything we could. I did everything I could to think of another way," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry. Sam and Ehsan were both just outside the trailer, and I tried-"

Deeks murmured out a faint "Kens," with a small head shake that stopped her babbling. She wanted him to walk over, fold her into his arms and reassure her. But instead he kept his distance and started pacing in a short circle with his arms crossed, his anger and frustration apparently keeping him on the far side of the room. He stopped and looked down at the floor, telling her, "I know there was probably nothing anyone could do, but I felt so alone in there, I felt so…"

"Abandoned?" she asked, instantly remembering the other time she had let him down, had left him alone to face monstrous men by himself.

He nodded his head sadly and told her, "When I saw Manny tied to that chair, it took me right back to Sidorov and I barely stopped a flashback from taking me down on the spot." He rubbed his jaw with the back of one hand as if remembering the physical pain of that encounter. "I felt so alone then, too, so hopeless. I knew exactly how he felt."

"I'm sorry, baby," Kensi whispered, in reference to both instances. "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you in that garage, and I'll never forgive myself for tonight either." He opened his mouth as if to argue but she pressed on, "But tonight isn't about me or my regrets, it's about me being here for you."

Even though she feared he'd reject her, she couldn't stop herself from moving closer. She walked forward and tentatively grasped one of his hands in both of hers and pulled it to her mouth, kissing it softly, then holding it to her heart and telling him, "I would give anything to be able to change what happened, but I can't. What you need to know, what you need to hang onto, is that you did everything you could do to keep Manny safe. You saved his life, Deeks. You chose the best course of action to do the least amount of harm, and you figured out a way to get him out of there alive. You did that all on your own. You're the hero in this story, Deeks, not the villain."

He huffed out a quick and bitter laugh and looked away, angrily wiping away a few tears running down his cheeks as he pushed out a shaky breath. She wanted to wrap him in a bear hug, to physically communicate the depth of her feelings, but his anger and agitation made her hesitate. Instead she gave his arm a small tug and took a step backwards in the direction of the sofa, asking him, "Sweetie, will you come over and sit with me? You look so tired I'm worried you're just gonna fall over."

He followed her to the ratty old sofa, where she took a seat, still holding his hand and waiting for him to join her. He looked at the spot beside her but then calmly pulled his hand free and resumed his slow pacing, stopping when he got to the far wall, leaning against it for support. His shattered expression transported her back to that moment in the bullpen after Sidorov when he'd pulled away from her. It was the only other time she could remember him so lost and it scared her.

He told her, "Kensi, I waterboarded an innocent man. Again." His stubborn refusal to look at the night's events the way she did frustrated her. She had to make him see reason, to see that he had nothing to feel guilty about.

"You had no choice, Deeks," she told him. "You had. No. Choice," she repeated more forcefully, stressing each word individually. She fought the overwhelming compulsion to leap from the sofa and march over to repeat the words right in his face until they finally sunk in.

"I felt so trapped," he told her. "Like I was caged with these horrible men with no way to escape. I mean, was there something I should have done differently Kensi? Please tell me the truth. Was there a better way to handle that? I know I'm rusty and all, and-"

"Deeks," she cut him off. Unable to stay seated any longer, she rose and hesitantly approached him once again, telling him, "No. You had the best team in the world backing you up. Sam and Callen with all their experience. Hetty, for god's sake. And the Wonder Twins. And none of them could think of a solution. Everyone agreed that you handled the situation the absolute best way possible." She'd reached his side and slowly slid both hands up behind his neck and into his long, unruly hair, pulling his head forward so she could place a soft kiss on his forehead. "Please come sit down?"

He looked at her sadly and then nodded and followed her back to the sofa where they sat together. She repeated herself, hoping she might penetrate Deeks' discombobulated thoughts, telling him, "You did the only thing you could. You did it facing an unbelievable amount of pressure. And you saved that man's life. You were incredibly brave, Deeks."

"It doesn't feel like it," he said dejectedly. "It feels like I'm a monster, like, I don't even feel human. I don't feel like a husband or a father. That Deeks seems so far away right now, and I don't know if I'll ever feel like him again. I was a fool to have ever thought I could ride off into the sunset and be a good father and a good husband, and just forget about everything bad I've ever done."

His anguish broke Kensi's heart and she leaned over to place another kiss on his cheek, tearfully telling him, "Deeks, you are the kindest and bravest man I've ever known. It may not feel like it right now, but nothing's changed. You are still the same amazing man I fell in love with... It's OK to be mad. You have every right to be angry with the whole team, with Hetty, with me, and definitely with the Brothers. Just don't be mad at yourself, baby. You don't deserve that, OK?"

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands over his face. When his hands ceased their movement, they remained covering his eyes and between ragged breaths, he began a string of tear-filled curses. "Fuck… Goddammit… Motherfuckers… Son of a bitch…"

Listening to him release his anger and sorrow nearly caused Kensi to completely break down herself even as she hoped he might be working his way through his swirling emotions. She gingerly placed a hand on his back, making slow, soothing circles over the tautly stretched muscles, letting him curse out his pain. When he'd truly exhausted himself, he finally slumped back into the cushions and she moved with him, gently pulling him into her arms. He went willingly, his breathing still shaky but his body seemingly spent of its tension.

They stayed like that for a long time as she whispered sweet nothings to him, telling him, "You're OK, Deeks, you're gonna be OK… I love you so so much… You're safe here with me. You're safe now." As she uttered the reassurances, her thoughts couldn't help but turn to the unfinished mission looming ahead of him, and how the moment's safety wouldn't last. She knew he was even more exhausted than she was from the day's unexpected stress and trauma, and when he appeared close to nodding off, she quietly suggested they move to the bedroom and took his hand, tugged him up, and led him in that direction.

He told her he wanted to shower before bed so she helped him undress and walked him to the bathroom. He seemed content to follow her lead, or more likely, he was too tired to think straight, and he stood while she turned on the water and adjusted the temperature before directing him under the warm spray. A minute later, she had undressed and followed him, wrapping her arms around him from behind, her hands splaying over his chest, kissing his back, continuing to offer whatever solace she could as the warm water rained down on them both. She reached for the shampoo and tenderly washed his hair, then soaped up a washcloth and quickly worked it over his exhausted frame. Once she finished, she turned him to face her and again wrapped him in a hug.

Before the water started to cool, she shut it off, toweled him off, and led him to the bedroom. She pulled some boxers and a comfy white t-shirt from the dresser for him to put on and did the same for herself. She pulled down the covers and sat him on the side of the bed so she could towel dry his hair, and then pushed him back onto his pillow, tucking him in like a small child. She turned off the light and got in on the other side, quickly scooting over and pulling him close and whispering her love for him until she felt his breathing even out and knew he was asleep.

A thousand thoughts and feelings raced through her mind. So much anger at Hetty and disappointment that Sam and Callen hadn't been able to do more. Disgust at herself for failing to have Deeks' back, and shame brought on by continuing reminders of her mistakes with Sidorov. She hoped he'd someday be able to forgive her for being such a lousy partner.

She worried about his state of mind, and whether he'd even be up for going back in with Johnson. Would he be able to function at a high enough level to keep himself safe? Could she talk Hetty out of sending him back in? It seemed unlikely. Hetty had been clear earlier in the evening about her priorities, and while Kensi understood them, she hated the little woman for her ability to be so dispassionate.

More anger and hatred coursed through her. Anger at the universe for causing Deeks and Ripley to cross paths, because Deeks didn't deserve any of this. And hatred at her late father-in-law, for causing her husband to think that maybe he did actually deserve it. Once she got him home, she vowed to do everything she could to make him understand differently.

Her last thoughts were of Derrick and Delilah. She hoped that her mother had managed to sooth Derrick's anxiety, and felt awful that she hadn't stayed with him to provide continuing reassurance herself. The quick trip home she'd made earlier in the day had felt insufficient and she suspected Derrick had seen through her forced cheerfulness. She thought of her beautiful baby, with her father's long, sandy hair, and hoped he'd return to spoiling her quickly, for both their sakes. Eventually her thoughts slowed and she let sleep claim her too.

**. . .**

_Deeks heard the cries before he could make out what was happening in the dark room. He realized he was pouring water over a towel-clad face, and felt the man below him struggling for air. He pulled the cloth away and saw Manny's face, wet with water and tears. Manny pleaded, "Gordo, please save me, please stop hurting me." The nickname Manny used confused him, but he couldn't stop. He reset the towel and repeated the whole horrible process. When he pulled the towel back again, he came face to face with the sputtering and coughing blind cleric. _

_Still he continued, compelled by an unseen force, until he sensed the presence of others in the room. As his victim's face shifted between the cleric and Manny with each removal of the towel, Sergeant Makar stepped forward from the shadows to judge him, repeating over and over, "You have no morals. You have no morals. You have no morals." _

_Then a second person came up behind him. It was Hetty, and she implored him, "Keep going! You must complete your mission. Besides, this is nothing. You've done far worse, Mr. Deeks." _

_He continued pouring water over the restrained man beneath him and then looked back up at Hetty. He found himself gazing into a mirror with Hetty standing behind him, only he didn't see himself. His father's face reflected back at him and he was afraid, but still he returned to his unending task. By the time he'd completed several more rounds of waterboarding, he heard Kensi's voice in the distance calling to him, telling him he was safe._

He awoke in a cold sweat with his heart pounding. He focused on Kensi's soothing voice that continued to reassure him, and tried to pull himself away from the haunting images that remained vivid in his mind. He felt Kensi's strong arms wrapped around him, and he sat up, trying to remove himself from the location of his latest horror.

"It's OK, Deeks, it's OK," she told him. "It's still really early. Stay here with me for a while longer, OK?"

"I can't," he mumbled. "Gonna go make some coffee." He headed out to the kitchen where he put on a pot of coffee. He heard Kensi shuffling into the bathroom and hoped she'd give him a little space to get his bearings. Releasing some of his pent-up anger and pain the previous night had been cathartic at the time, but his nightmare had brought back all the negative thoughts Kensi had initially helped keep at bay.

Deep down he understood there was likely nothing that could have been done to stop him from torturing Manny without risking the mission _and_ his own safety, but it didn't make him feel any less angry- with his assignment, Hetty, Callen and Sam, and yes, even Kensi. Well, maybe with Kensi it was more a sense of disappointment than real anger. He'd allowed himself to believe she'd move heaven and earth to have his back, but she'd failed. And even as he knew it was through no fault of her own, it still hurt a little to think about. Still, he was grateful to have her there with him, and heartened that his actions hadn't horrified her into avoiding his presence altogether.

Kensi quietly padded into the kitchen, having donned a sweatshirt from Max's dresser. "Hey," she said quietly.

Deeks watched her standing by the counter in his clothes with the early morning sun illuminating her tousled hair and the kitchen around her and the utter normalcy of the vision suddenly made him realize that he'd involved his wife - his everything - in his dangerous operation. "You should go," he told her abruptly.

"What?" she asked, clearly thrown by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"It's not safe for you to be here. I- I shouldn't have pulled you in. I don't want you to get sucked into this op. I can't handle that, Kens. I'm sorry I called you last night." He saw the hurt expression on her face. He knew he spoke the truth - he hadn't said it to hurt her feelings. Or at least he didn't think he had.

She furrowed her brow and told him, "Deeks. I'm your partner. I've always been your partner. It's my job to have your back. I may have failed to do that with Manny, but it was also my job to be here to help you deal with it last night. It's my job as your partner, and it's my job as your wife. You know I can handle myself." He began to interrupt to tell her she needed to stay safe for their kids when she beat him to it, saying, "But I understand why you don't want me getting in any deeper. I'll go. But can I stick around a little while longer? I just want to make sure you're in as good a place as you can be before I go. Please let me do that, baby, OK?"

He couldn't resist her plea, and nodded his head a single time in agreement, closing his eyes briefly and sighing. She offered him a faint smile, then turned around to pour them both a coffee. They quietly drank the subpar brew - Max Gentry was no gourmet - and ate a quick breakfast before getting dressed. Deeks was ready first and went out to sit on the sofa and check his phone for messages. Kensi joined him and sat beside him, perching sideways, just far enough away that she could tuck her legs under her and get a good look at him.

"Do you want to try to get some more sleep? I could stay and monitor your phone. It would do you some good," she told him.

He huffed out a breath and told her, "I don't think I could sleep. Or stay asleep, anyway." He still hadn't shaken the images from his earlier nightmare, and wasn't anxious to dive back into his fucked up subconscious.

"OK, but promise me you'll try to sleep tonight? And that you'll call if you need me to come over, or even just to talk?"

"Sure," he told her, even though he was pretty certain he'd go it alone from here on out.

"How are you feeling about continuing the op?" she asked him softly.

He took her question more as a judgment of his fitness than an expression of concern, and told her in an agitated voice, "I'm thrilled about it, Kensi, what do you think?"

"Deeks," she calmly continued, "You know you don't have to-"

"I'll be damned if I'm gonna stop now. These bastards are horrible people determined to do horrific things, plus I won't have what happened last night be for nothing… Every second of this op has been difficult or worse, but if I stop now it will all have been pointless."

She nodded her head, acknowledging the emotion behind his words, but added, "I get how you feel, Deeks, and I'll support you one hundred percent no matter what you decide. But don't think last night would be pointless. No matter what happens going forward, you saved a man's life last night. Remember that, OK?"

"Yeah," he said bitterly, focusing only on the way he had gone about the life saving. His bad memories led to thoughts of Max and he told her, "You know, when I've gone under as Max before, I've had to knock a few heads, and treat people like shit. I know it sounds crazy to say this, but during those ops, Max was there with me, you know? He came from deep down inside, and letting him come out to take over in those bad situations kind of allowed me, Marty, to watch it happen rather than fully participate in it. Like, I could deny it was me doing it somehow. Does that make any sense?"

"Sure," she replied. "He came easier to you, more than with a regular alias, so you could kind of put him on autopilot and let him go."

"Yeah. But last night, he was a no show. I couldn't summon him up to take over no matter how freaked out I got, so it was me doing all that, just me. And I know that of course all of it on all those other ops was really just me too, and I was kidding myself to blame things on Max. But that distance he gave me? It let me pretend afterwards that I hadn't really behaved like such a… sorry piece of shit." Kensi reach out to hold his hand as he continued. "But you know what? It's always been me. When I did those other things as Max, when I tortured the cleric in Afghanistan, when I shot my father, when I killed Boyle," he said, ending in a near whisper. "Nothing's changed."

"Deeks," Kensi started, moving to grip both of his hands, "You know what I think about when I hear that list of things you've done?" He looked into her eyes, afraid of what she'd say. "I think about how incredibly brave you've been. Everything you've ever done, your whole life, has been to protect other people. It makes me nothing but proud of you."

He huffed out a harsh laugh, saying, "I wish I could see it that way."

"Well Mister," she told him, poking him gently in the chest, "That's gonna be my mission just as soon as you're home. To make sure you believe it. Because it's the truth."

Kensi's belief felt totally misguided in his eyes, but he appreciated her efforts to make him feel better. Her faith gave him something to cling to. He pulled her into his arms and she wrapped herself around him, tucking her head under his neck, and they sat together for a long time until a text buzzed on Max's phone. He jumped forward to pick it up from the coffee table and read the message from an unknown number.

_I hear things went well last night. Meet me at 1800 PCH in Wilmington this afternoon & we can talk about other business opportunities._

He felt Kensi tense beside him and showed her the message. Then he sighed and got up and moved to the kitchen to start washing the breakfast dishes. When he finished, he turned and leaned against the counter with his hands in his back pockets. Kensi had followed him into the kitchen and asked, "It's too soon to try the earwig, right?" Deeks nodded sadly at the idea and she continued, telling him, "I wish we could communicate with you, so you'd know everything we're doing to have your back."

"Me too, Kens. Maybe in another couple days, if I can get established with the group." Kensi nodded and went to retrieve her purse. She came back into the kitchen, kissed him soundly and wrapped her arms around his neck in a big hug.

"I love you," she told him.

"I love you too, Kens. Thanks for being there for me last night. I'm not sure what would've happened if you hadn't come."

"Anytime, Deeks. All you have to do is call and I'll come running." She kissed him once more before stepping away. Looking back with haunted eyes and a sad half smile, she walked out the door. His sunshine was gone, and Deeks was alone once more.


	10. Holiday

_Can I get another amen?  
__There's a flag wrapped around a score of men  
__A gag  
__A plastic bag on a monument…  
__Zieg heil to the president gasman  
__Bombs away is your punishment  
__Pulverize the Eiffel Towers  
__Who criticize your government  
__Bang bang goes the broken glass  
__Kill all the fags that don't agree  
__Trials by fire setting fire  
__Is not a way that's meant for me_

\- "Holiday," Green Day

**. . .**

Deeks waited around his apartment for a few more hours before retrieving his jacket, weapons and Overwatch gel and heading out for Wilmington. He'd been unable – or unwilling - to go back to sleep, spending the time staring at the television while his eyes focused on memories of the previous night and his early morning nightmare. By the time he climbed onto his bike, at least the vivid images from his dream had faded somewhat, although he hadn't shaken them entirely.

As he drove down the 110 Freeway, he thought about the intel Eric had shared when he'd called into Ops for an update. Facial rec software had matched Jameson up with the Homeland Security database record for one Ian Walsh. He'd originally landed on their radar with the Ku Klux Klan in his native Georgia, and had bounced around with different white supremacist groups, slowly migrating across the country until he joined Johnson and the Brothers. Deeks thought back to their conversation from the previous evening and knew divulging their shared history of abusive fathers represented his best chance to gain the man's trust. He dreaded having to reveal any details from his painful childhood but told himself he could always concoct a different version of events, as if that would make it any easier to channel the emotions he would need to summon to maintain his cover.

They'd also obtained a decent shot of Dexter when his face had been caught in the Camaro's headlights. His real name was Domenic James Schmidt, and he'd grown up in a working-class Chicago neighborhood where he had early on - and repeatedly - earned the attention of law enforcement in an escalating series of violent acts. He'd landed in jail multiple times as he hopscotched his way across the country, falling in with the Aryan Soldiers in Tucson before ending up in California with Johnson two years ago. Since then he'd been out of law enforcement's hands, although he had been hospitalized once with two gunshot wounds.

Eric had also let him know that Manny was not a Homeland Security agent as he had claimed, but an LAPD detective named Isaac Leibovitz. He was resting comfortably at UCLA Medical Center in good condition. Although the news had lifted a small bit of the massive weight hanging over Deeks' heart, he had quickly changed the subject, ashamed at the reminder of what he'd done. Even though he knew Eric was just trying to ease his conscience, he really wished his friend hadn't even brought the man up. Now as he drove, he found his mind returning to images from that evening. He continued to try to redirect his subconscious, to focus on the job at hand, but every time he got his thoughts wrapped around the Brothers and their evil plot, somehow his mind would find a way to insert thoughts of Isaac.

Deeks had retraced his path from the day before, heading south toward the port. He exited the freeway onto Pacific Coast Highway and headed east. This was far from the PCH of television and movies, steps away from ocean waves with rugged mountains supplying a beautiful backdrop. Deeks longed for that part of the road, wishing he could transport himself to Huntington Beach or Hermosa Beach or Topanga Beach or any of a thousand other spots along the way.

No, this section of PCH cut inland, around the Palos Verdes Peninsula and past the ports of L.A. and Long Beach, before it finally re-emerged back onto the coast. On the stretch Deeks drove, he saw no beachside restaurants or fancy homes, only fast food options, low-brow motels, auto shops, and dollar stores.

The Harbor View Truck Stop at the address Johnson had shared presented not so much of a harbor view as a vista of the metal recycling plant across the street and a glimpse of the auto wrecking yard behind a fence next door. It _was_ technically near the harbor, offering a convenient spot for truck drivers needing to pick up supplies before heading out of town with their freshly loaded containers, or for those seeking a few hours' sleep after dropping off a shipment. Deeks circled the truck stop's main building that housed a gas station, mechanic, and small store.

As he came around behind the building, he noticed out at the back of the huge lot, past the few trucks parking there by the hour, the remnants of an old filling station from the 1940's, probably from right around the time port activity boomed during World War II. Now peeling paint and cracked, boarded up windows overshadowed its beautiful Art Deco horizontal lines and curving corners. The group of motorcycles parked along the building's side told Deeks he had found Johnson's "office."

He pulled up, parked his bike, and strolled slowly around to the front door. He braced himself for the unknown and knocked, surprised when it swung open easily. Inside the surprise continued with a clean and tidy space, a plethora of fluorescent lights providing brightness despite the covered windows. Where once a small market area would have stood, Benny, Jameson and two other men sat clustered around a large round table, coffee cups in front of them rather than alcohol. "Afternoon, fellas," Deeks greeted.

* * *

Sam, Ehsan and Nicole had pulled their respective vehicles past the truck stop and found street parking nearby. Nicole got out and started meandering down the street to position herself a little closer in case Deeks needed help. Sam monitored Deeks' button cam footage until he entered the filling station and the signal suddenly cut out. Worry sliced through him at the unexpected and unwelcome turn of events.

"Eric, what's happening to Deeks' button cam?" Sam demanded.

"I'm checking, Sam. Stand by," Eric replied. Sam's anxiety level skyrocketed at losing contact with Deeks and it took all his Navy SEAL discipline to sit stoically and wait for word from Eric.

"It looks like they're using comm jammers," Eric said. "I'm not picking up any cell signals inside either. I think these guys are more sophisticated than their outward appearance would indicate."

Kensi cut in, asking, "Sam, do you think he got made?"

Sam struggled to rationally assess the situation. After a moment's consideration, he told her, "No, Kensi. We don't have any reason to think that. And if he had, they wouldn't be stupid enough to try to take him out at their headquarters knowing he'd probably be monitored. Ehsan, see if you can get into the back of the wrecking yard without being spotted. You may or may not be able to see what's going on inside, but it would get you closer just in case. Oh, and take one of those mini cameras with you. Maybe you can hide it in a good spot to monitor their comings and goings."

"On it," Ehsan replied.

Announcing his decision to the group with more certainty than he felt, Sam said, "Let's let this play out unless we see signs of trouble."

* * *

"Max," Johnson greeted Deeks with a small smile. "Come in and make yourself comfortable. Me and the boys were just finishing up a planning session." As Deeks stepped over to the table, Jameson nodded and smiled before getting up with the other two men. One of them opened up what looked like a back-office room and went inside. Before the door closed again, Deeks caught a glimpse of several computers, a number of weapons, and a number of other electronic devices he couldn't see clearly enough to identify. Jameson and the third man moved through an open side door out into the equally brightly lit garage space, its windows papered over but its fluorescent lights blazing. Beyond the doorway, Deeks could see a cargo van and several more bikes, their owners tinkering with their vehicles or standing and talking quietly. The whole place projected more the air of a military operation than a biker gang.

"Have a seat, Max." Deeks sat as Johnson gathered the papers and maps spread all over the table into a manila folder. As the man reached across the table, Deeks noted the oak tree tattoo on his chest peeking out from his v-neck t-shirt. It looked almost pretty when you couldn't see the nooses hanging from the elegantly drawn branches, and it creeped him out.

"You all look like you're getting ready for some action," Deeks prompted, wanting to get the conversation started and finished.

"You got that right," said Johnson. "It's why I called you. Thought you might be a helpful addition to the team."

"Sounds good," Deeks said, relaxing slightly at the confirmation that Max's cover had been successfully restored. Looking to stay in character, Deeks told him, "Let's discuss the new terms of employment after you pay me for last night's work."

Benny laughed. "Sure, Max. Don't worry, you'll get paid before you leave today… Jameson said you handled yourself well. Said you knew how to persuade our friend to talk, and that you reacted quickly to being interrupted up in the hills."

"I'm glad I passed inspection," Deeks said sarcastically.

"Come on Max, it's been a long time since we worked together. When you hear what we have going on, you'll understand why I needed to vet you so thoroughly."

"So tell me all about your big operation," Deeks challenged.

Johnson sighed, apparently not enjoying Max's charming personality. Deeks made a mental note to pull back on the hostility level. He hated Johnson and all he stood for, but Max would be anxious for a big payday. Before Johnson could say anything more, Deeks added, "The operation you got going here looks impressive. Seems like you got yourself a disciplined group. Kind of a military vibe."

Johnson sat back and nodded, saying, "Yeah, they're good men. Met a few of 'em when I was with the Army. I've leveraged their experience to help train up the others to operate with discipline and precision." He sighed, "With a few exceptions like Dexter." Deeks nodded in agreement at the mention of the would-be serial killer.

Deeks said, "I didn't know you served in the military. Where were you stationed?"

"Out in the fucking desert," Johnson replied.

"Not a fan of heat and cactus?" asked Deeks.

"Nope, not since I was little," Johnson explained. "I grew up near the Salton Sea, but the fucking Mexicans coming up from the border kept my father from finding a good job. I left as soon as I could and joined up."

"How long did you serve?"

"Long enough to learn that the military is filled with race traitors and fools who think it's possible to live in a world where the races can co-exist peacefully," Johnson said. When Deeks didn't reply, he continued, saying, "I didn't want to be out in the damn desert, but when my transfer request got denied, I decided to focus my efforts on bringing about the inevitable: racial conflict. Convinced some like-minded men to take on some of the Garcias, and Chans, and Washingtons, in the ranks. They kicked me out for my efforts, but it made me realize my true calling in life. Since then, I've worked hard to recruit men who truly believe in our cause and who are willing to sacrifice to achieve our goals."

"Starting a revolution," Deeks stated, remembering his conversation with Jameson.

"Exactly. Do you know why we're rebelling?"

"Jameson told me about how you all aren't fans of, um, diversity. Said something about cleansing California."

"That's the plan. You ever hear of the Day of the Rope?" Johnson asked.

"Nope," Deeks replied, preparing himself for what was sure to be a thick stew of hate and reminding himself that Max would find it neither attractive nor repulsive, looking only for the profit-making opportunities involved.

"The Day of the Rope is how we got our name," Johnson explained, leaning forward as he spoke. "It's from a novel called _The Turner Diaries_. In the book, the revolution begins on a day where every Jew, every non-white, and every white person who betrayed their race are hanged all over Los Angeles. Corpses dangle from every street corner and overpass." Johnson became increasingly animated as he began to unveil his plot, and Deeks felt the intensity of the man's convictions. He told Deeks, "It starts an ethnic cleansing that leads to California becoming a white sanctuary, and to the eventual ethnic cleansing that frees the entire country of its demographic demons."

Revulsion shuddered through Deeks' stomach at the man's words, but he managed to coolly reply, telling him, "Sounds ambitious."

Johnson sat upright and stated, "It needs to be ambitious to get people to wake up to what's happening in our country, and to inspire them to join together and fight for what's right."

"So you're planning a Day of the Rope?" Deeks asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Johnson replied. "In the book, the Day of the Rope was centered in L.A. We're taking the revolution nationwide." Deeks could see the pride in Johnson's eyes, the small smile that showed how excited he felt about his plans.

"Wow," Deeks responded. He wanted to collect as much intel as he could without appearing overly curious. He pressed Johnson with, "You are ambitious. How many men you got working with you?"

"I've got thirty-five solid guys. But it's not just the Brothers. We're combining forces with like-minded groups across the country." Deeks remained quiet, waiting to see if Johnson would share more, but he seemed to want to hear Max's questions. Deeks thought he was enjoying unveiling his grand plans, and tried to continue to sound impressed.

"I'm intrigued. So does this Day of the Rope have a particular date?"

"It does. August first. Less than six weeks from now."

"Hence the project planning session I walked in on," Deeks said.

"Mm hmm," Johnson replied.

Deeks tried to put himself in the place of someone who didn't know about the massive arms theft, but he wanted to find out more about the weapons so he tried asking, "So I'm guessing if you're interested in my services, there might be some weapons involved in this planning, or some transactions that need to be overseen?"

"You are correct," Johnson said, smiling at Max's ability to see the bigger picture.

"Just tell me what you need me to do," Deeks told him. "And tell me how much I'm gonna get paid."

"Sure, Max." Johnson got up to refill his coffee from a pot at a small bar area complete with metal stools, which had once functioned as the market's counter.

He picked up a separate mug and held it up as if to ask Max if he wanted coffee, and Deeks nodded, saying, "Yeah, thanks."

As Johnson poured out a cup for Max, he told him, "I heard from Ripley."

Deeks' breath hitched at the idea that Johnson had likely been checking out his story, and Derrick's concerned face flashed through his mind. Panic at wanting to keep his son far away from these people momentarily overcame him but he tamped it down quickly and focused on not visibly reacting to Johnson's statement. "Yeah?" he responded in as disinterested a manner as he could muster.

"Yeah." Johnson turned and brought the coffee over to Deeks before explaining, "He said you were with a black kid when he saw you." He handed Deeks the mug but stood standing over him, awaiting his explanation. Deeks felt a tiny trickle of sweat drip down his back and wished he could remove his jacket without looking like Johnson's implied question had literally caused him to melt under pressure.

"Yeah, I was. You know that friend I was looking for? The kid knows him. He didn't seem too willing to share what he knew, so I thought if I bought him some lunch, I could get him to talk." Johnson stared at him, his grey eyes piercing, as if trying to gauge the veracity of his story. Deeks added with a smirk, "Figured I'd try feeding him before I waterboarded him."

As Johnson laughed at the idea and slapped him on the shoulder, Deeks inwardly cringed at his own words.

"OK," Johnson said, sitting back down across the table. "Here's the deal. We've come into possession of a large cache of weapons. We're talking grenade launchers and rocket launchers, plus all the ammunition to make things go boom."

"Wow, that sounds very helpful if you're trying to start a revolution," Deeks told him.

"Exactly," Johnson said, sounding pleased with himself. "We have enough of these weapons that we can save some for ourselves and share the rest, and we're setting up deals with different groups from around the country. The idea is to get the sales complete as soon as possible so these men can get the weapons back home and ready for use before August first."

"A coordinated attack," Deeks observed.

"Yes. It looks like we're gonna split the weapons up among ten different groups, including ourselves, to be able to hit ten different cities."

"Have you completed any of these transactions yet, or will I be able to help out with all of them?" Deeks asked eagerly, trying to appear to be calculating his potential payout but really wanting to ascertain whether they might have missed out on the chance to fully contain the problem.

"We wanted to figure out exactly what we'd be selling and who we'd be selling to before we started the, as you call them, transactions," Johnson explained. "The first one is going down in two days."

Deeks smiled at the good news, hoping it conveyed Max's happiness at finding such gainful employment. "What exactly do you need me to do?" he asked.

Johnson replied, "I need someone with your experience at brokering deals like these to be on site when they go down. I myself don't plan to be present. My men are good, and a lot of them have military backgrounds. Jameson is a strong number two. They all have a lot of experience with drug transactions. But I think your instincts for how to handle tense situations, and your ability to think on your feet, will come in handy. Even if you aren't interested in our end goals."

"Hey, as long as you don't string me up as a, what did you call it, a race traitor? I'll be happy to support whatever you're planning," Deeks affably assured Johnson.

"OK, then, let's talk about your fee and then I can introduce you to more of the men."

Incredibly relieved that he seemed to have earned Johnson's trust and thrilled that none of the weapons had hit the streets yet, Deeks worked out the financial arrangements, including payment for the previous night's work, and then went out to meet the other men working in the spacious, clean and well-stocked garage. Sepp was there, still glumly eyeing him, but there was no sign of Dexter. Johnson shook his hand and then went back inside the office space with a few of the men to continue their meeting, telling him to be ready for the first deal in two days. Deeks walked over to Jameson, who was kneeling on the ground working on his bike behind the white cargo van. He made sure to get a good shot of the van's license plate with his button cam before stopping to chat.

"Good to see you again, Max," Jameson said in his warm drawl.

"You too," Deeks replied. "It was good working with you last night." Deeks reached into his jacket pocket to open up the Chapstick tube. He scooped a small quantity onto his finger and replaced the lid. "Don't see Dexter here today. Is he in trouble or something?"

As Jameson replied, telling him that Dexter wasn't in any more trouble than usual, Deeks leaned against the back of the van with his hands behind his back. He rubbed the gel onto the bottom door hinge and hoped it would function as intended, and that the Brothers might use the van for weapons transport.

Deeks laughed at Jameson's reply and started to ask him if he wanted to get a beer later when Johnson called out from the office, yelling, "Jameson, we need you for this discussion." Johnson dismissed Deeks at the same time, telling him, "Bye, Max. See you Sunday."

Deeks knew he couldn't linger, and left via the small door at the back of the office. He walked around the side to his bike, climbed on, and headed back toward Max's apartment. He took a winding route to try to make sure there weren't any tails, and then pulled over onto a side street to look his bike over for any sign of a tracking device. He found one magnetized onto the bike's frame underneath the seat. Disappointment flooded through him and he realized he'd been counting on being able to stop back at the mission to debrief with the team and - who was he kidding - to see Kensi. Instead he jumped onto the freeway and headed straight for the apartment, checking it over for signs of forced entry or monitoring devices. When he found none, he pulled his second phone out from its hiding place and called into Ops.

Nell greeted him. She was alone for the moment, Kensi having left to confer with FBI Agent Rand about the results of the facial rec ID's they'd made from Deeks' footage the previous night. Nell explained that his button cam signal had been jammed earlier, so he relayed all he could remember of his conversations and what he'd observed inside Johnson's office. He told her about placing the Overwatch gel on the van and Nell told him, "Good news there, I think. We picked up the signal and the van left the truck stop about twenty minutes ago. It hasn't gotten too far yet but it appears to be heading east. Fingers crossed it leads us to the weapons."

Deeks allowed himself a moment's hope at the positive development, knowing there was a half-decent chance his part of the op might be over. He hung up with Nell before Kensi could return. He wanted so much to hear her encouraging voice, but wasn't up to contending with the underlying emotional turmoil she couldn't fully hide.

He debated going out for the evening to drown his stress in alcohol. He thought about taking a drive, maybe out to the beach, but knew it wasn't really Max's style. For a moment he even considered calling Derrick to try to explain what was happening, but knew that was a crazy idea that would only lead to more stress for them both. In the end he settled on spending Max's Friday night ordering a pizza for dinner and turning on ESPN, hoping to get a call from Ops telling him the weapons had been located and his job was over. Instead of beer, he chose more foul-tasting coffee, anxious to avoid sleep, knowing where it would lead.

The coffee wasn't enough to prevent his exhaustion from winning out, and by ten o'clock he had dozed off on the couch. When the first nightmare woke him, all he remembered was the sound of Isaac's pleas and the feel of a gun in his hand. He took a cold shower and headed to the bedroom, but didn't sleep long before he was caught in the throes of a second nightmare.

_He was searching. He checked in the port, at the beach, in seedy locations all around the city, and in his childhood neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley. He couldn't find whatever it was he needed, and his anxiety grew. Finally he realized he was hunting for a person, not a thing. He heard himself calling out for the person he sought, and his own cries of "Max? Max, where are you?" were what woke him. _

This time he didn't even try to go back to sleep.

* * *

Saturday around mid-day Deeks went out for some food. He'd texted Ops to ask whether the van had led to anything helpful, but had only received a vague reply that they were still working on it. He decided to take a spin up into the San Gabriel Mountains to try to clear his head as he waited to find out whether his mission might soon be over. He got home around four o'clock to find a text message on Max's phone from Callen's alias Greg, asking if he wanted to meet him for a beer later. He sighed, knowing that the van had likely been a dead end, and responded to Callen asking if he could pick him up around five thirty.

When Callen pulled up in his pick-up truck, Deeks climbed in and silently acknowledged his team leader. Callen pulled away from the curb and drove slowly toward downtown. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Peachy," Deeks replied, his exhaustion and anxiety creating a perfect reproduction of Max's surly tone.

Callen ignored the attitude and got right to business, telling him, "I've got a few updates and I want to give them to you while we're in the truck. You've picked up a tail. Timmons was on overwatch last night at your apartment and he noticed someone staking the place out. They're still there, watching your comings and goings. I'm pretty sure they're following us as we speak."

"Again, peachy," was all Deeks could muster.

Callen sighed and said, "There's good news and there's bad news about the weapons. The good news is that the van drove to a small warehouse all the way out in Desert Hot Springs and the FBI has been surveilling the place since last night. They've already sent in a miniature drone with a camera and are almost certain that all the weapons are there."

Deeks allowed himself to believe for a split second that he might be done, but knew Callen was about to crush any such hope.

Callen continued, "The bad news is that there's been a change of plans... The FBI and Homeland Security no longer just want to take possession of the weapons and take down the Brothers. They want to let the sales go through and track them back across the country to the other nine hate groups. The new mission is to make a massive nationwide sting and take all ten organizations down at once."

"Fuck," Deeks said.


	11. St Jimmy

_St. Jimmy's coming down across the alleyway  
__Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade  
__Light of a silhouette, he's insubordinate  
__Coming at you on the count of 1, 2, 1 2 3 4  
__My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out  
__Suicide commando that your momma talked about  
__King of the 40 thieves and I'm here to represent  
__The needle in the vein of the establishment  
__I'm the patron saint of the denial  
__With an angel face and a taste for suicidal_

\- "St. Jimmy", Green Day

**. . .**

On learning that he needed to remain undercover long enough to complete all nine weapons sales and try to tag all nine shipments so they could be traced back across the country to their eventual destinations, Deeks felt nothing. His mind shut down, working to protect him, to prevent him from feeling overwhelmed by the giant task he'd just been handed. He heard Callen talking about contingency plans and inter-agency cooperation, but couldn't absorb any of the details. He stared unseeing out the window at the early evening streets as they wove their way through downtown to the edge of East L.A., where Callen pulled up at a small bar Deeks found to be ironically named Easy's.

Callen herded him inside to a back booth where they drank beer and watched the Dodgers in near silence. Not for the first time, Deeks was grateful for Max's taciturn nature, for at the moment he utterly lacked the ability to make small talk. Knowing they were likely being watched, Deeks tried to force out an occasional surly comment or two about the team's pitching, but otherwise he could only respond with monosyllabic answers to the bits of conversation Callen offered, feeling all the while like a man with a long prison sentence ahead of him and no chance of parole.

* * *

_It was so dark on the hillside that Deeks couldn't see his hands in front of him, but somehow he knew where he had to go and what he had to do. He pushed through the brush and literally stumbled onto Isaac lying bound but ungagged in the dirt, pleading for his life. He sat down behind the man and wrapped his arms around him like he was going for a hug. But instead he slid his arms up around Isaac's neck and began choking him. _

_Isaac struggled to breath but it didn't stop Deeks, who kept squeezing and squeezing, knowing he had to kill him but not understanding why. Only, Isaac wouldn't die. He just kept wheezing and squirming and begging him to stop. Deeks felt tears rolling down his face but kept going until-_

His alarm sounded at eight o'clock and he leapt up like he'd been shot out of a cannon, his heart racing. He headed for the bathroom thinking he might throw up, but only managed to dry heave as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, trying to breathe deeply and pull himself away from the awful sensation of squeezing the life out of a man, an innocent man at that.

He showered, dressed, drank an unhealthy amount of bad coffee, and waited for either of his phones to alert him to his next step. Finally, around ten a new number he assumed belonged to Johnson told him to be at the dock where they'd tortured Isaac by three o'clock. But Johnson didn't exactly describe it that way- he told him to go where he'd "provided such a warm welcome to their surprise guest."

* * *

Kensi paced back and forth across Ops, much as she had for the past ninety minutes, ever since she'd arrived after kissing her children good-bye and leaving them with Roberta. Her mother-in-law had continued to pester her about Deeks and Kensi hadn't known what to tell her. She only shared that he'd been pulled back into an assignment for which he was uniquely suited, and she didn't know how long it would last, but potentially another month. She had tried to mask her worry from Roberta but when the woman had given her a powerful hug, she'd nearly broken down in her arms. She had taken a deep breath, tried to offer some reassuring words, and headed to work.

When Nell put her husband on speaker, Kensi suddenly felt unsure what to say. Knowing he was struggling to maintain his cover made her reluctant to offer anything too personal, so she stuck with a warm, "Morning, partner. It's good to hear your voice."

"Likewise," replied Deeks. "It's good to know you're all there watching out for me."

His focus on the team landed like a rejection, but Kensi understood why he felt the need to keep some distance between them. Nell quickly got Agents Rand and Timmons on the line while Eric called the team up to Ops. Deeks filled them all in on the meet's location. They decided they'd muster forces, including a full FBI SWAT team, at the same nearby port operations parking lot they'd used before, only this time they'd gather around the back of the port building, out of view from the road should anyone pass by. Knowing they'd likely be spotted if they approached on foot during the day, they decided to place Sam and Ehsan on stand-by in a small motorboat, thinking they might be able to swoop in from the water if the operation went bad.

Kensi remained silent, resigned to her fate of observing from Ops, but Callen surprised her and suggested she and Agent Rand see what they could do from the dock on the opposite side of the channel, thinking they might be able to find a good line of sight on what was happening, and if needed, to utilize Kensi's sniper skills to protect Deeks. She was beyond thrilled to actively participate in protecting her husband, and wanted to race out of Ops and down to the armory before Callen changed his mind, or Hetty arrived to change it for him.

Instead she listened as they debated whether Deeks should use an earwig, but again decided to play it safe and go without. Deeks' only mission was to try to tag the other group's vehicles or as many of the weapons cases as he could. As they got ready to sign off on the call, Kensi wished for a moment alone to offer Deeks words of love and support, but she kept it to a professional "Be safe, partner," as he hung up the phone.

* * *

During the day, the dock possessed a far less ominous vibe than it had a few nights earlier. The sunshine and stiff breeze almost managed to sweep away Deeks' horrible memories. Almost. He pulled up to a car parked inside the chains guarding the entrance. He provided his name and they let him pass and he drove over to the trailer. Outside a few men stood around a number of motorcycles along with the white cargo van and several pick-up trucks. Despite the sunshine, the trailer looked just as decrepit as he remembered, maybe even a little more. Deeks wished he could confer with the men outside in the fresh air but knew he had to go inside, back to the spot of his previous transgressions, where he assumed he'd find Jameson.

In he went, met by a group of about eight men, all sitting around on a few chairs and some crates they'd apparently pulled in from outside. The trailer's opened blinds made it a lot easier to see. Its musty carpet now smelled even moldier, probably from the water he'd helped spill all over it. The nausea that roiled his stomach might have been brought about by the trailer's stuffy atmosphere or by the reminders of his shameful actions, but he figured both deserved some blame. Either way, he fought to keep his stomach's contents from reappearing. He didn't see Johnson but wasn't surprised by his absence. The man had always avoided attending his own deals, knowing it would make it harder to connect him if the law descended. Instead Jameson greeted him in his usual affable way, saying, "Good afternoon, Max."

"Hey, Jameson," Deeks replied. Jameson stood and walked over to Deeks, who remained by the door. As the other men continued to chat, Deeks asked, "What's the plan?"

"We're meetin' with our brothers in arms from New York City today. They were the first to join in our mission... They should be here by two o'clock."

"Are they a satellite wing of the Brothers of the Rope?"

"Nah, but they share our beliefs and want to help us lead the revolution. They call themselves Combat 14."

"What's the 14 stand for?" Deeks asked.

"It's fourteen words," explained Jameson, "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children," he said, ticking each word off on his fingers, counting to fourteen. "It's one of our, uh, mottos."

"Fantastic," said Deeks drily. "You deal with them before?" He wanted to understand the dynamics at work, and also to make sure Jameson saw Max as providing useful support.

"I haven't," Jameson said, "But Benny knows 'em. He and the group's leader, guy named Victor Pennington, go way back."

"How many men are you expecting?"

"We told 'em to keep it to two per vehicle. Figured they might come in five or six trucks or SUV's. It should be a cakewalk compared to a lot of other deals we do. After all, we're all on the same side. Plus Benny gave 'em a really good deal for the merchandise, so they shouldn't have any reason to complain."

"Sounds great," Deeks told him. "Still, it might not hurt to have a back-up plan in case things go south."

"I was plannin' to have a couple guys spread out around the lot, like one in the ditch over that way." He gestured toward the area where Ehsan had come in the previous night. "And another couple over by the water, behind some crates," he said, pointing in the opposite direction.

"Do you have any men who are good shots from those distances?" Deeks asked, wanting to find out how likely he might be to get caught in any crossfire while continuing to gather intel and make himself useful.

"Yeah, most of the guys here today have military backgrounds. Got a couple who are pretty handy with a rifle," Jameson assured him, proud of his team.

"Cool," said Deeks. "You might also put a man up on the roof- the high ground might come in handy." He almost smiled as thoughts of his own bad-ass ninja assassin sniper wife flashed through his mind, and he felt an actual pang of nostalgia for all the previous ops where she'd watched over him. Today, even if he didn't see her, he knew she was there, and it helped him breathe a little easier.

Jameson thought about Deeks' suggestion and said, "Sure, that sounds like a good idea, Max. I'll do that." Deeks thought Jameson's willingness to take advice showed that he was a secure leader, which in turn boded well for the meet's success.

As the men prepped their weapons, Deeks made sure to circulate among them to capture all the faces on his button cam. He acknowledged those he'd met before, including Sepp and unfortunately, Dexter, and introduced himself to the others. The time passed quickly and as the meet approached, they went back out into the clean air that smelled of the ocean, calming Deeks further as he watched Jameson deploy his men around the lot. After a few minutes Deeks stepped toward the vehicles, thinking he might get a look at the weapons, but the opportunity ended before it began when they heard shouts from the men manning the gate, who were allowing a caravan of pick-up trucks to enter.

Jameson, Deeks, and the remaining men spread themselves out around their own vehicles and waited for the trucks to approach. The Combat 14 members pulled to a halt at a diagonal a short distance from the trailer, and two men exited each one. Most stayed behind their doors in a defensive position while two stepped forward. They all wore khaki pants, combat boots and long-sleeved t-shirts, looking more like a paramilitary group, or at least a group of hunters, than the bunch of punk, tattooed ex-cons Deeks expected. As he took in their intimidating appearance, he reassured himself with thoughts of Kensi sitting somewhere on the other side of the channel, hidden with her rifle and no doubt poised to take out anyone who threatened him.

Not knowing what kind of opportunity he might have to put his hands on the weapons, Deeks reached into his pocket for the Chapstick and popped the cap, smearing a dab onto his finger so he'd be ready if he got a chance. Jameson stepped forward to greet the two apparent leaders of the group, with Deeks and then Dexter just a few feet behind him. Jameson said, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Is one of you Mr. Pennington?"

The older of the two, a short, stocky man in his fifties with thinning brown hair and a serious demeanor, nodded his head, saying gruffly, "That's me. Where's Benny?"

Jameson explained, "Benny couldn't be here today. He sends his apologies and is confident that all the details have already been worked out to our mutual satisfaction."

"Hmph," Pennington muttered. "I came all the way across the country and I have to deal with Benny's errand boys?" He waved his hands around vaguely, pointing at Jameson's men. "No offense."

"None taken," Jameson said calmly, but Deeks thought some of the warmth usually present in his voice had disappeared. "If you're free for a drink after we finish our transaction, Benny would very much like to meet with you to review our plans. He just prefers to do that without any of the merchandise present."

"Right. He always was a paranoid, egotistical motherfucker," Pennington observed.

Jameson didn't react to Pennington's characterization of his boss, but Dexter did. He leapt forward past Deeks and then past Jameson to grab Pennington by his jacket collar, flashing a knife in his face and telling him, "That kinda talk is outta line, Mister."

Pennington's men all reacted at the same time, drawing their guns and starting to move forward. Deeks could see the whole deal falling apart before it even got started. Without stopping to think, he quickly moved up and grabbed Dexter from behind, pulling him off of Pennington and pushing him back toward Jameson, who grabbed him and shoved him back to Sepp and the other men standing nearby.

Deeks turned back around to address Pennington and was met by the man's fist landing a solid punch to his cheek. He staggered back a step and saw Pennington start to advance on Jameson. He reached out for the man's shoulder and this time ducked the punch Pennington turned and threw, using the man's momentum to swing him around so he faced away from him, back toward his own men. In the same movement, Deeks slid up behind him and wrapped his arms firmly around Pennington's neck, keeping him immobile and using him as a shield.

Out of nowhere, he felt an oncoming flashback as vivid memories from his morning's nightmare about choking Isaac came roaring to the front of his mind. Reality began to slip away and he relaxed his hold on Pennington. Deeks almost let him go entirely before he came back to the present and realized the man was reaching for a weapon. He re-tightened his hold and said to Pennington, but loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I think we've all got off on the wrong foot. Sorry about Dexter, there, sir. He's not really cut out for this kind of work. He's always looking for opportunities to hurt people, even if they're on the same side." As he spoke, he remembered the Overwatch gel and worked as much of it as he could under Pennington's jacket collar and onto his neck. He continued addressing the entire group, saying, "I should also point out that this is only a semi-private location, yeah? Gunshots would be heard by our neighbors and there's only so many ways of getting off Terminal Island if the cops descend on this place. Can we all agree to restarting this discussion?"

He loosened his hold on Pennington slightly until he saw the man nod. He looked behind him at Jameson who also nodded, and he saw that Sepp had pulled Dexter all the way back to the side of the trailer. Deeks could feel Dexter's anger radiating off him from there but Sepp looked to have him under control. Deeks let Pennington go and took a step back, prepared to defend himself if Pennington decided he'd rather pick a fight than do the deal. Instead, the man announced to his apparent second in command, "Bring the money."

Everyone took a breath and dropped their weapons to their sides. While Jameson looked over the money, Deeks escorted Pennington and two of his men to inspect the weapons. He used the opportunity to slide more Overwatch gel onto his fingers and apply it to several of the weapons cases. And with that, the deal was done and the men loaded the weapons into the Combat 14 trucks. Jameson gave Pennington directions to a nearby dive bar called Augie's Tavern where he could exchange pleasantries with Johnson before hitting the road.

Once they'd driven away, Jameson turned back to Deeks, telling him, "Thanks, man. That was gonna go all sortsa wrong if you hadn't been able to calm things down. You gotta let me buy you a drink."

Deeks wanted to turn down the offer and go home to his cover apartment to lick his wounds and try to unwind from the stressful afternoon, but he knew he needed to pull as much information out of Jameson and the others as he could so he said, "Sure, lead the way."

* * *

Augie's Tavern had been around forever. Its once beautiful neon sign now only retained a functioning red glow on the U and G, the other letters remaining dark. Inside the gloom continued and somehow, despite the years' old ban on smoking in all Los Angeles bars, it managed to reek of smoke, as if the scent of decades of cigarettes had left behind a permanent residue on all the creaky leather booths and ancient carpet. When Deeks and Jameson got inside, they could see Johnson and Pennington engaged in an intense but quiet discussion in the back corner, with several men from both parties sitting tensely at nearby booths. Jameson led Deeks to some open spots at the bar, apparently uninterested in inserting himself into the middle of Johnson's conversation.

The bartender quickly filled their order and Jameson told Deeks, "Thanks for your help today." He raised his beer in a small salute and added, "I'm glad you were there."

Deeks acknowledged the thanks and took a drink, glad to have a moment's relative peace with the most easy-going of the whole gang of racist terrorists. "Just doing my job," he replied.

They sat quietly, gradually coming down from the adrenaline rush of the meet. Deeks wanted to rest the cool bottle against his stinging cheek, but didn't think Max would care about a bruised face so he satisfied himself with taking a long swig of the refreshing liquid. After a while, Dexter, Sepp and several other men filed in. As they passed Deeks and Jameson at the bar, heading for the back, most of the men nodded in acknowledgment. Dexter, on the other hand, merely scowled. Deeks watched as they sat at a table near the others.

"You have definitely _not_ made a new friend there," observed Jameson.

Deeks chuckled and agreed, saying, "No, I don't think I have… Benny is running a pretty tight operation, but it seems like Dexter isn't exactly held to the, uh, same standards as the rest of the team?"

"He's kinda like the problem child. Like, I think literally Benny thinks of him as a son. I think they must've had quite the past together."

"Do you know how they met?" Deeks asked.

"Nope. I heard somethin' about Dexter havin' Benny's back durin' a drug deal gone bad, but I'm not privy to the details."

Looking for any information he could use to solidify his place with the group and build trust, Deeks offered, "Wish my old man had been that forgiving." Jameson looked up at him as if waiting to see exactly how much Max would reveal about himself. Deeks continued, "I remember one time a buddy and me went for a joyride in a stolen Camaro. I couldn't walk for a week from the beating he gave me."

"How old were you?" asked Jameson.

"I don't know, fourteen or fifteen?" Deeks' story wasn't real. His dad was gone from his life by the time he hit his teens. But there had been plenty of other beatings like he'd described, so letting himself feel the same anger and sense of betrayal he'd felt toward his own father made it easy to sound truthful. "Just like your father, mine taught me that it's way better to do the hitting than be the one getting hit." It was exactly what Max, anyway, had learned from Gordon John Brandel.

"Yeah, I get that," Jameson replied.

"Sounds like your grandfather offered you a way to avoid good ole dad?" Deeks asked.

"Yup. From the time I was little, he'd let me come along to meetin's with his buddies. Had me sit on his knee while they all talked about what was wrong with the world, and how to make it right. That's why I feel like it was fate that I met Benny. He's gonna make it all real, all that talk for all those years, and now I'm finally goin' to be a part of makin' it happen."

Deeks had no idea how to respond to something so far opposed to his world view, or so delusional. He couldn't begin to wrap his head around it, so he took another drink of his cold beer instead.

They continued to chat. Jameson wanted to hear about Max's thoughts on the meet, and what they might have done better to prevent things from going so wrong so quickly. Deeks gave him feedback about how they might have better deployed the men, but mostly it came down to having the right men on the team.

As some of the men from the back of the bar started working their way past where Deeks and Jameson sat, Deeks felt a strong hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Johnson. The man told him, "I hear you played a key part in keeping everything from going to hell today, Max. Jameson here speaks highly of your performance."

"Just doing what you hired me to do," Deeks replied. "Jameson stayed calm and helped keep the peace. He's a good man to have leading your team." He debated commenting that Dexter was absolutely not, but decided that pointing out the obvious would only stir up trouble.

"Looks like the next meet is happening in a couple days. Maybe Tuesday," Johnson told him. "We're still working out the details. I'll text you once we have it set."

"Sure. You know where to find me."

Johnson said goodnight to them both and walked out with Pennington and his men. Deeks saw that Dexter remained in the back with a few other Brothers. Turning back to Jameson, he told him, "I appreciate you filling Johnson in on the details. It would've been easy to just tell him what he wants to hear… He's lucky to have you."

"Like I said, I feel lucky to have found him. So I guess we're both lucky."

"Just one big, dysfunctional but happy family, yeah?" Deeks observed.

Jameson chuckled, then raised his beer to clink with Deeks', saying "Yeah, I guess it is."

Deeks finished up his beer, then got up to leave. Jameson bid him goodnight, picked up what was left of his own beer, and moved to join the others in the back.

As was apparently becoming customary on this assignment, Deeks was exhausted and looking forward to at least having a half hour to breath during his drive back to his apartment. He walked outside into the early evening twilight, buttoning up his jacket and moving along the side of the building where the remaining bikes were parked. As he reached for his helmet, he heard footsteps behind him and started to turn.

He felt the sharp pain slicing across his abdomen before he could register what had happened. He did recognize Dexter's angry face barreling toward him and before he knew it, Deeks found himself shoved up against the bar's brick wall with a knife at his throat.

"You piece of shit," Dexter breathed out, his face and the accompanying smell of alcohol only inches away from Deeks'. "I don't appreciate you telling me what to do, or putting your hands on me. You are not the boss of me." He began applying pressure to Deeks' neck, and the unhinged look in his eyes told Deeks everything he needed to know about the man's intentions as the first trickle of blood began dripping down his throat.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, there is a real Augie's Tavern, but it's in San Pedro not Wilmington where, in my head anyway, this version is located. I've never been inside though. I'm sure it's actually a lovely place.**


	12. Before the Lobotomy

_Dreaming, I was only dreaming  
__Of another place and time  
__Where my family's from  
__Singing, I can hear them singing  
__When the rain has washed away  
__All these scattered dreams  
__Dying, everybody's dying  
__Hearts are washed in misery  
__Drenched in gasoline  
__Laughing, there is no more laughing  
__Songs of yesterday now live  
__In the underground_

\- "Before the Lobotomy," Green Day

**_. . ._**

As Dexter's knife sliced into his neck, Deeks reacted on instinct built over years of physical training and real-life application, and took advantage of his attacker's proximity to place both hands on Dexter's arm and forcefully shove him back, right into a nearby dumpster. He used all his strength to repeatedly slam the man's arm against the dumpster until he dropped the knife, at which point Deeks kneed him in the stomach. As Dexter bent over from the force of the blow, he punched him in the eye and he fell to the ground. Deeks kicked the knife under the dumpster and bent down to further disarm the disgruntled Brother of the Rope, tugging the gun from the back of his pants.

Deeks took a few steps back, watching the man lying stunned on the ground grunting out curse words in his direction. The sharp pain emanating from his abdomen had only just begun to register when he caught sight of another man striding briskly past the alley's entrance and then coming to a sudden halt and hesitating there. When the man stepped forward under a street light, Deeks could easily make out Agent Timmons' red hair as he paused, poised to come to his assistance if needed. Deeks shook his head and Timmons quickly disappeared back into the night.

Shortly after that, as Dexter clumsily rose back to his feet, Jameson and several other Brothers came out of the bar. Deeks offered Dexter's gun to Jameson, telling him, "He tried to slit my throat. Seems like he holds a grudge. I kicked his knife under the dumpster." He gestured down to the hand that was clutching his bloody shirt against his stomach as proof of his story.

Jameson whistled and told him, "Shit, Max, that looks bad." As he reached out to pull aside his jacket and shirt to take a closer look, Deeks fully registered that his lower abdomen hurt like a son of a bitch. He looked down at the blood and the four or five inch gash and felt a little nauseous, but didn't think he was in any danger of bleeding out. "Looks like it's gonna need stitches," Jameson told him, "But it doesn't look too deep."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Deeks replied, knowing by the amount of biting pain that it was definitely deep enough to require stitches. Jameson pulled off his outer shirt and gestured for Deeks to sit on the nearest bike so he could apply pressure, eliciting a flinch and a hiss from Deeks. The pain wasn't overwhelming, but along with the thought of all the blood, Deeks' mind struggled to focus. He only knew that he wanted to be away from these men.

He told Jameson, "I'm heading out. See you soon."

Jameson said, "Whoa, Max, let me borrow one of the guy's cars and I'll take you to the ER to get patched up. You don't wanna ride down the highway like this." He gestured toward Deeks' bloody shirt.

"I'll be OK, thanks. Harbor-UCLA Med Center isn't far, and if they bring in any cops, it's better if you're not around. Plus, I think you're needed to settle down your brother over there," he said, nodding his head behind Jameson to the other men attempting to get Dexter to walk off his angry rant.

"Alright, well, call me if you need anything, OK?" Jameson asked.

"Will do, thanks Jameson," Deeks replied as he jammed the extra shirt over the cut and partway into the top of his pants to try to keep a little pressure on the wound. Then he got on his bike and drove away.

Once he'd established that he wasn't being followed, he pulled over and turned off the bone-rattling engine so he could reassure the team, and Kensi, knowing she'd be going crazy with worry. He applied more pressure to the slowly oozing cut, wincing and telling whomever was listening, "I'm fine, guys, I'm good, so don't freak out. It's not that deep. Nothing a few stitches won't fix. I will be needing a new jacket for my button cam though."

With that, he took off again, wondering how hard it was going to be to drive himself all the way home. He also thought about whether the team should find an excuse to pick Dexter up and remove him from the middle of the op. His instability made him tough to control, and introduced a variable into every meet that Deeks wanted to avoid. And now that the man had made his hostility toward Max known, Deeks worried that Johnson might elect to remove Max rather than try to control Dexter.

* * *

Deeks pulled up and parked near the Harbor-UCLA Medical Center ER entrance and checked himself in. After a lengthy wait, he was escorted to a treatment bay to get stitched up, a process that always transported him straight back to his childhood, reminding him of too many other times he'd had to endure the same process while playing along with the latest excuse his mom offered, usually one that entailed his incredible clumsiness. The memories of the pain, along with images of the needles used to inject the numbing agent, increased his nausea and general unease. God, he hated everything about this assignment.

He tried to take solace in the fact that he had proven his usefulness, and hopefully had planted enough Overwatch gel to light up those weapons cases as they made their way across the country with the men from Combat 14. One meet down, eight to go. Deeks sighed, wishing things could be over already. He tried to joke to himself that at least he hadn't had to torture anyone today, but it fell flat and only served to remind him of the pain he'd inflicted on Isaac, triggering a full-on panic attack. Deeks couldn't control his suddenly racing pulse and the feeling that there wasn't enough oxygen in the room to fill his lungs. He felt himself falling into an abyss and mentally flailed about for something to hang onto to haul himself back out. Sunshine and gunpowder would have done the trick, but they were sadly absent. In the distance he heard the nurses, thinking his panic was due to the stitches, offering comfort, and he leaned into their voices, eventually allowing them to pull him back to the ER's curtained off space.

"Sorry," he muttered, feeling embarrassed as he blew out a shaky breath. "Just, this is bringing back some bad memories."

They shushed him and reassured him that it was OK, that it happened to a lot of people. He didn't believe them but allowed them to finish their work and send him back out into the world.

* * *

Deeks was able to drive himself home, where he followed his usual routine of checking the apartment for hidden cameras or listening devices before pulling out his second phone and calling into Ops.

"Hey Shaggy, are you alright?" asked Nell immediately.

"I'm fine, Nell," he replied, ignoring the dull but constant throbbing still radiating outward from the damage Dexter's knife had done. "You ready for a debrief?" He assumed Nell would want to put him on speaker so he could update the team and Kensi, but his fatigue made him dread another group discussion.

Nell put him on hold and when she came back on the line a few minutes later, only Hetty had joined her. His whole body relaxed in relief and he released a long breath before giving them a full report on the day's events.

Once he had completed his debrief, Hetty asked gently, "Mr. Deeks, it would seem that we need to deliver a new jacket to you. Ms. Blye is more than happy to serve as messenger, and her cover as Max Gentry's girlfriend would make her appearance this evening perfectly in keeping with your cover. However, if you'd prefer, we could have Mr. Callen or Ms. Jones bring it by."

Deeks sighed heavily and thought for a moment. He was not up for another night full of intense emotion like his most recent one with Kensi, and he didn't want to be pulled back out of his current mindset. Yet her appearance would make the most sense, and maybe, just maybe, her presence would allow him to get a little of the sleep his body ached for.

"Please have Kensi bring it over. And thanks for asking, Hetty."

"She'll be there within the hour, Mr. Deeks. Take care, keep us posted, and let us know if there's anything else you require."

* * *

Kensi arrived around twelve thirty in the morning. Once they'd been assured that Deeks was alright and obtaining treatment at the ER, Hetty had sent her home to check on the kids and stand by for a possible appearance as Kiki, Max Gentry's girlfriend. He opened the door with a towel around his waist, his dripping wet hair letting her know he'd just finished showering. She gave him a soft kiss, saying, "Hi, baby," as she walked into the apartment, frowning at the water-proofed bandage on his stomach, the smaller one on his neck, and the nasty bruise on his cheek. The button cam footage of Dexter's attack and its aftermath had terrified her and being able to see him standing before her in one relatively intact piece reassured her more than anything he had reported by button cam mic or phone report.

"Hey, Kens," he said. "Let me go put on some clothes. I'll be right back."

She took a seat on the sofa and a few minutes later he reappeared in boxers and a white t-shirt and asked her if she wanted anything to drink. "No, I'm good," she replied. He seemed almost formal in his questioning, clearly trying to maintain control of his emotions. She wanted him to unburden himself of all the pain and fatigue he carried, to let her take some of it for him, but he appeared determined to hold himself back. She understood his reluctance to talk about his experiences and how doing so might pull him away from his undercover role. He was struggling enough to maintain his cover and she didn't want to make it harder for him. She couldn't help but to express her concern, although she didn't plan on pushing too hard, hoping that even if he wouldn't open up to her, he'd at least let her provide some degree of comfort. "How's your stomach feeling?" she prodded gently.

"It's fine," he said, wincing as he gingerly sat down beside her.

"I'm really glad," she offered, tentatively sliding herself under his arm and wrapping hers across his chest, careful not to let it drop lower to the tender area around his stitches. He didn't offer additional details, and she didn't ask, happy with the physical contact and reassured by the steady heartbeat beneath her even as the unfamiliar smell of Max Gentry's shampoo reminded her they were far from home.

They sat like that for a time, until Kensi asked him softly, "Do you want to try to get some sleep?"

She heard him sigh before telling her, "Not sure I can."

She gave him a small squeeze and told him, "I'm sorry... Do you want to give it a try? Even just a few hours will help you stay alert and strong."

"Okay," he said doubtfully. They got up together. She grabbed her bag and they headed to the bedroom. Deeks got into bed while she changed and brushed her teeth before climbing in with him. He was lying on his side facing her, so she mirrored his position.

"I love you," she told him.

"I love you too," he said. She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his bruised cheek, then gently grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him toward her as she lay back. His head nestled into her side and she wrapped an arm around him, carding fingers through his hair, encouraging him to sleep. And within a few minutes, he did just that.

* * *

_It was morning and he was walking Kensi to her car, except they stopped in front of a grey Camaro. She turned and looked at him with profound sadness in her beautiful eyes. Tears streamed down her face and she told him accusingly, "You promised Deeks, no more secrets." _

_He didn't know what she meant and replied, "I told you about Boyle, baby. What's wrong?" _

_She just repeated the same line, slowly backing away. She stopped and pointed at the trunk and told him, "What did you do, Deeks?" _

_A jolt of horror shuddered through him and he moved to open the trunk. Kensi turned and began walking away as he opened it to see Isaac's dead body, his bloody throat cut clear across. "No, no, no," he said. "I didn't, I didn't do this! No, please god, no! Kensi!" He kept shouting her name but she continued to walk away, farther and farther…_

He heard Kensi calling his name, calling him back to her and he woke to her running her hand along his jaw and telling him he was OK. He wrapped his arms around her, mumbling, "You're still here. You didn't leave me... I'm sorry."

She hugged him back and continued to utter sweet words of reassurance, telling him she'd never leave him, and slowly he made sense of the details in the vivid nightmare, finally understanding they weren't real, and he relaxed.

"You had a couple other nightmares during the night, but you settled down quickly enough that I thought it was better to let you keep sleeping," she told him. "This time though, I couldn't bear to hear you calling for me… I love you so much, Deeks. So much."

He kissed the side of her head, and told her, "I love you too. Thanks for being here with me."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be." After several minutes, she asked, "Will you eat something if I cook breakfast?"

He knew she expected him to make a joke about her culinary abilities, but he couldn't summon up the energy for his usual teasing banter, saying instead, "I'll try." He saw disappointment and worry flash across her face at his atypical response, even though she quickly hid it with a kiss before getting up and throwing on one of Max's sweatshirts and padding out to the kitchen.

He lay back in bed and tried to remember her words from a few days ago, that he had saved Isaac's life and that she was proud of him. Intellectually, he knew she'd made sense, but emotionally he was too exhausted to wrap his head around her words, to truly believe them. He knew he had to follow Sam's advice to take this assignment one moment at a time. There'd be time for reckoning with his actions and their effects once the job was done. With a sigh, he turned to sit up, letting out a loud hiss and slowing his movements the moment the pain and stiffness from his injury made themselves known. He tentatively stood and went to join Kensi in the kitchen.

She'd managed to put coffee on, scramble some eggs and toast some bread and was setting the food out on the small table. He sat down while she went back to the drawers to pull out a couple of paper napkins, and when she came back to the table and placed one in front of him, he reached out to wrap his arms around her midsection, pulling her to him and resting his face against her stomach. She wrapped her own arms around him, cradling his head in her hands, and telling him, "It's gonna be OK."

He took a few moments to enjoy the comfort she provided before releasing her and starting to eat. He wanted to ask about the kids. He so badly wanted to hear about how they were doing, but knew he couldn't even mention their names. Talking about them would immediately yank him so far away from the world he currently inhabited that he'd completely lose track of his current mindset and focus. Instead he pushed thoughts of them away as far as he could and just ate.

"How's your stomach feeling?" Kensi asked. "We should change the dressing before I go."

"It's pretty sore," Deeks told her, "But it'll be fine."

"Did they give you antibiotics?" she asked.

Deeks looked at her sheepishly and admitted, "They gave me a prescription but... I just wanted to come home – back here – so I didn't get it filled."

She smiled as if expecting his answer, and got up and pulled a bottle from her bag. She shook out two pills and left the rest on the counter, telling him it was "Courtesy of Dr. Lange."

That did elicit a smile. He appreciated Hetty's ability to anticipate and look out for him, even as he couldn't help but blame her, in part anyway, for all the shitty things that had happened on his assignment. The smile faded as soon as Kensi pulled another item from her bag, a leather jacket. It was a thinner version of Max's signature jacket, and its appearance soured his mood immediately.

"There aren't any buttons," she told him, "So the camera is part of the clasp at the top." She pointed out the tiny element that fit the jacket perfectly.

"Thanks," he said coolly. He set the jacket aside, and got up and took their dishes to the sink and silently washed them while Kensi did the drying.

When they had finished and moved together back to the sofa, Kensi asked, "Can I ask you a question? As your partner?"

"OK," he said, dreading what she might bring up.

"You told me before that you weren't feeling Max inside you, that he hadn't shown up to help you deal with these horrible men." He nodded and waited for her to continue. "I was just wondering if you'd started feeling his presence more? If he was coming back to help you?"

He shook his head. "No, he really hasn't." He wondered if his reluctance to talk had prompted her question. "Why, do you think I'm acting more like him now?"

She considered the question, and then replied, "No, I don't see him at all, actually. I think you're just maintaining some distance as a way to keep your emotions under control, and I think that's probably smart. Like, I think that's the best way to handle things given the situation. But no, I don't see any signs of Max."

"Yeah," he said, not wanting to delve any deeper into his emotions or his feelings about his undercover alias.

"What's the plan for today?" she asked.

"Good question," he said, relieved by the change in subject. "I don't think I need to meet with anyone or be anywhere specific."

"I could stay," she offered, quickly adding, "But I don't have to. It's up to you. We could just chill with the TV, we don't have talk about feelings or bad dreams or how incredibly brave you are," she said with a small smile. "We can just hang out, like partners."

He looked into her face and saw how badly she wanted him to agree to her offer. But then he remembered that every minute she spent there put her in danger. He knew the risk appeared minimal at the moment, but he couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her because of his selfish desire for her companionship, so he told her, "Thanks, Kens, but I think it's probably best if you go."

He knew she was disappointed, and maybe a little frustrated, though she hid it well. She smiled at him, patted him on the chest, and told him, "OK." She led him to sit back at the kitchen table while she changed his dressing. While she worked, she brought up Dexter and the danger he posed to the op and to Deeks, and asked if he thought they should pick him up.

He told her, "I was thinking about that too... but I think it would raise too many red flags with Johnson. It's not worth the risk of spooking him."

Kensi looked at him with her brow furrowed, and told him, "OK, I guess that makes sense. But if you change your mind, just say the word. I will be more than happy to lead a team to take him down."

He smiled at the idea and told her, "I bet you would. Thanks for having my back, Kensalina."

She kissed his cheek and finished her task and then stood to gather her things, including his old jacket to make her bag appear as full as it had been the night before. She told him, "I'm glad I got to have your back yesterday. You know I would have taken Pennington or his men out before they could have gotten off a single shot at you, right?"

Again he smiled at the very thought of his amazing wife taking down a paramilitary squad of racist terrorists. "I'd have loved to see you do that," he told her.

Then he walked her out to her car, wanting to make sure she got away without trouble. She leaned in, her arms wrapping around his head, and kissed him passionately, whispering in his ear, "In case anyone's watching, I want them to know that Max Gentry knows how to show a girl a good time."

He knew she meant well with her words, and kissed her back before seeing her off. But those words stung because Max treated women terribly and he was glad that Kensi didn't really have to experience his alter ego.

He went back inside his apartment and tried as hard as he could to empty his mind. Nothing he thought about brought him any peace or comfort, so he tried to zone out, numb to the world, and push down all the turmoil he felt under the surface, to push it down as deeply as he could so he could finish his job. Then, and only then, would he let those feelings back out to face them. Until then, he was done with feelings.


	13. Letterbomb

_Where have all the bastards gone  
__The underbelly stacks up ten high…  
__Where have all the riots gone  
__As the city's motto gets pulverized?...  
__The town bishop's an extortionist  
__And he don't even know that you exist  
__Standing still when it's do or die  
__You better run for your fucking life  
__It's not over till you're underground  
__It's not over before it's too late  
__This city's burning  
__It's not my burden  
__It's not over before it's too late  
__There is nothing left to analyze_

\- "Letterbomb," Green Day

**. . .**

Two days later, Deeks helped the Brothers complete their sale with the fine folk from the Patriot Front, a Boston-based white supremacist group. And over the next several weeks, four more meets went down without a hitch. He had managed to tag weapons cases at four of the five meets, and two vehicles at the fifth. In addition, the footage from his jacket cam aided in identifying many of the key players involved. The FBI was now tracking weapons and men as they made their way back to New York, Boston, Washington D.C., St. Louis, Atlanta, and Chicago.

Deeks spent most of his time in his apartment, mindlessly watching TV and trying to do as little thinking as possible. Callen picked him up every couple days to watch a Dodgers game at a nearby bar. They spent most of the time in companionable silence, which Deeks appreciated. He knew Callen's extensive undercover experience helped him understand that Deeks didn't want to talk about anything, that he just wanted to keep moving forward until he could finish the whole awful assignment.

Once he had gotten the stitches removed from his abdomen, he'd begun taking long rides on his motorcycle. It occupied his mind while helping kill time. Plus he took perverse pleasure in knowing Hetty couldn't do anything to stop him, and an odd satisfaction in the ironic fact that it was likely the safest part of his assignment.

He and Jameson continued their bromance, going for beers to celebrate each successful meet. Deeks hated that he found the guy so likeable, aside from, of course, his repulsive racism. He told himself they hadn't become _too_ close, and Deeks knew his good working relationship with the man could only help keep him firmly ensconced in the operation, at least so long as Dexter stayed far away. Deeks found himself dwelling on the way Jameson had been raised, and wondering if he himself would have turned out the same if he'd been plucked from his messed up childhood in Los Angeles and dropped into a different version of the same life in Georgia.

He didn't see Kensi again, though he did speak with her a few times by phone. Each instance was filled with awkward starts and stops because he knew she wanted to talk more, and more deeply, about things while he wanted the exact opposite. Both disappointment and relief struck him any time he called in and she wasn't there.

* * *

_He was floating, adrift on a raft on a cold, grey sea under a gloomy, grey sky like some castaway whose ship had gone down. He didn't know where he was, he just knew he was drifting, unanchored to any place or time or person. He thought he had once had a family, and remembered a beautiful woman with long dark hair and unique, mesmerizing eyes, but he couldn't remember where they had gone or what had become of them. He only knew they were no longer his, and it made him profoundly sad. _

_He lay in the raft and waited. He didn't know whether he was waiting to be rescued or to die. Suddenly something bumped the raft's side. He looked down and saw a swarm of sharks circling, slowly circling, waiting for him to slip into the cold water and succumb._

He awoke with a start, and a sad longing. With some relief, he realized that his family was closer than his dream had led him to believe. He was nearing the end of the operation. He only had a few meets remaining. The latest, meet number seven, with the Aryan Nation from Dallas – not to be confused with the Aryan Brotherhood from northern Virginia or the Aryan Terror Brigade of St. Louis, with whom the Brothers had already met – was scheduled for later in the afternoon. Then the next meet – number eight, the second to last - would take place the following morning, with the White Knights from Phoenix.

The ninth and final meet scheduled for the following week, and Deeks was almost obsessively counting down the hours until his assignment's end. The previous several meets had all gone relatively smoothly. Dexter had not participated, nor had Johnson. Just as with the first meet, Johnson preferred to remain absent, making separate arrangements to confer with his buyers afterward. Deeks knew they plotted out details of their planned August first attack during these meetings, but he'd yet to have any luck uncovering specifics. He could only hope all the groups stuck with the plan and no one decided to sell their new weapons to any third parties, or jumped the gun, so to speak, on the attack's timing.

He'd begun to look ahead, to trying to figure out how to return to his real life, to having time to truly decompress and make sense of his assignment. Maybe, if he could forgive himself for his actions and reassure himself that he wasn't a danger to his family, he might even be able to hug his kids and kiss his wife. He'd allowed himself a sliver of hope.

* * *

The mid-July day started off hot, and the air grew even more oppressive as Deeks rode his Harley out beyond the communities of Palmdale and Lancaster in the high desert northeast of Los Angeles. He continued on through the tiny town of Mojave, past its immense airplane boneyard where massive jetliners sat lined up in the sun until they either returned to service or got dismantled for parts.

The Brothers had scheduled the day's meet at a sprawling "ranch" past Mojave and out beyond the small town with the big name of California City, created by a real estate developer with a dream for a new Los Angeles that never grew beyond a few thousand residents, including a couple thousand unwilling ones at the nearby Cal City Correctional Facility. Deeks turned off onto one of its "streets," miles of which were laid out in grids and cul de sacs as if just waiting for a housing boom that might still hit. He drove down empty street after empty street, devoid of any sign of civilization save for the roads themselves, until he reached the deserted town's far north end.

The first time he'd done this drive, the week before for the meet with the Supreme White Alliance of Chicago, he'd followed several Brothers. This time he'd driven up alone, allowing himself time to actually enjoy the open highway.

He pulled over in the now sweltering heat, eagerly removing his helmet and turning on his earwig to touch base with the team. But for the hot, dry breeze blowing through his sweaty hair, he heard and saw nothing in any direction. He'd started using an earwig after the third meet, when his position with the Brothers seemed secure, and it had made all the difference in helping him feel like part of the team. Today they were all concerned about the meet location; they'd had trouble the week before finding good cover nearby from which to conduct overwatch activities. Today they'd made no further progress, holing up on a side road right off nearby Route 395, only about five minutes away but leaving them with no way to monitor the situation aside from Deeks' comms.

He signed off and drove on, making a turn before heading straight toward a range of large hills – or small mountains, he wasn't sure which – until a few distant structures came into view. He recognized his destination, the ranch that consisted of a ramshackle single story house with an empty barn and a few outbuildings snugged up against the hills. A friend of the Brothers named Stuart Jackson owned it. He'd met Johnson in the military but had quickly left, seeking a life away from the "debacle" the armed forces had become and the "mess" in the big city to the south. He had certainly found an escape out here among the dusty hills and their desert shrubs, with only an occasional Joshua Tree, with its expressively bent branches resembling the outstretched limbs of a man gesturing toward heaven, for company.

Their meet was scheduled to go down at four that afternoon, and Deeks pulled in around one o'clock to help make sure everything was set and try to tag the weapons. He'd found that by arriving early to the meets under the guise of preparation, he was often able to seize good opportunities to inspect the inventory and apply plenty of his Overwatch gel.

He parked and greeted the Brothers, all of whom he'd gotten to know by name. He checked in with Jameson and they started walking the property, reviewing the plan for deploying the men. The scorching breeze blowing down off the hills only made the day feel hotter, and Deeks knew he needed to remove his jacket or risk looking like a crazy person, or collapsing from heat stroke. He casually pulled the Overwatch gel out of the jacket pocket and moved it to his jeans, and placed the jacket on the porch railing with the camera facing out where the meet was to occur, making a mental note to request a cooler button-cam enabled shirt if he had to come out here again.

The two men circled to the side of the house and then moved toward the dilapidated barn behind. They walked the barn's perimeter but as they rounded the structure's back end, a shot suddenly rang out and the wood by Deeks' head splintered apart. He ducked and ran for cover by an old pick-up truck with four flat tires sitting off to the barn's side. Jameson followed as more shots resounded around them and they heard their men shouting, struggling to figure out their attackers' location.

Deeks tried to ignore the shouts from his earwig calling for his status and peered around the truck's back bumper to see several figures behind the ranch up on the hillside to his left, moving from one large boulder to another. He turned to point them out to Jameson when he saw Sepp and two other Brothers taking fire from the opposite direction from what appeared to be several more shooters approaching toward the side of the house out front. He said to Jameson, "I'm good, you good?" knowing the team would be reassured.

Jameson gave him a thumbs up as they watched the men on the hill. Although they were advancing steadily, they were still some distance away. The men gaining ground toward the side of the house concerned Deeks more and he told Jameson, "Sepp needs back-up in front. Let's go around the back of the shed over there and try to flank the shooters." Deeks eyed the small structure in front of the vehicle where they'd taken refuge, figuring if they could reach its other side, they'd have good position from which to isolate the assailants out front.

Jameson nodded and the two of them ran for the shed's back corner, firing off a few shots at the men on the hillside as they went.

They moved around to the far side of the shed and began carefully sneaking up its side but before they reached the front, a man wearing desert camouflage moved out from behind an old tractor to their side, his rifle pointed straight at Jameson. Without thinking, Deeks dove toward his friend - or Max's anyway - shoving him out of the way as the shot was fired.

Deeks landed on top of him and then rolled off. He came up firing and took out the man with the rifle. He barely had time to register the pain in his left bicep as two other men approached from the same direction. He and Jameson fired in unison and they each hit their mark, dropping both men in their tracks.

Deeks pushed Jameson toward the front of the shed, closer to where the others were taking heavy fire. When they reached the front, Deeks wordlessly gestured for Jameson to cut behind an SUV while he covered him. As he fired, he took a quick moment to try to evaluate the situation. He realized he'd been shot but didn't have time to assess his own injury, using the time to attempt to determine who had the upper hand in the battle taking place in front of him. He didn't want to call in the cavalry if it wasn't necessary. Doing so could trigger the other groups across the country to prematurely use their weapons. He whispered to the team to stay put for the moment, and then watched as Jameson took out one and then another of the opposition.

* * *

Callen and the team sat in their vehicles on the side of the freeway, poised to hit the gas and hurry to Deeks' rescue. Callen heard Deeks calling them off and tried to put together the rest of what was happening from the background noise and the single vantage point of Deeks' jacket hanging on the porch railing. Next to him in the Challenger, Sam asked, "Was he hit? G, did you hear that grunt?" And into his comms, Sam questioned Deeks, "Deeks are you good? Say the word and we'll be there, man."

Callen listened to what sounded like Deeks running, and to more gunshots ringing out. He wanted to race in to protect him but knew it would put the entire nationwide operation at risk, so instead he ordered Sam and the others to hang tight. Finally they heard Deeks murmur another soft, "I'm good." He saw Sam unclench slightly in the seat beside him, but no one could relax until the gunfire stopped.

* * *

Deeks scurried over to join Jameson, and together they advanced on the remaining men shooting at the Brothers in front of the house. The Brothers had begun to gain the advantage and the attackers starting retreating back into the desert. Most were quickly pursued, the Brothers chasing them down, not wanting any to escape. As he and Jameson checked on one another in the aftermath, throbbing pain finally caused Deeks to look down at his arm. The bullet had passed through, but a steady stream of blood dripped down from the wound. He didn't think he'd nicked an artery and he felt no dizziness, but realized the huge shot of adrenaline he'd just experienced could be masking such problems.

He walked over to the front of the house where the men were tending to three Brothers who'd also been hit. One named Austin and another named Julius looked to be DOA. The third, a surly young man Deeks knew as Prickly, had been hit in the stomach and his pain-filled moans carried on the wind. Deeks didn't think he could offer much help so he sat himself down on the rickety front porch to take a closer look at his arm.

Jameson had quickly taken control and doled out assignments to confirm the attackers were all dead and to bring him anyone who wasn't. He had Prickly taken inside and looked after and then he walked up to see to Deeks. "Is it bad?" he asked, moving Deeks' hand away from where he was applying pressure and leaning down to take a look.

"I don't think it hit anything vital, and it's a through-and-through, so I'll live," Deeks assured him. His words set off a short storm of questions in his ear as he heard Sam and the others asking for confirmation that he was really OK. "Seriously, I'm good," he assured everyone within earshot.

Jameson frowned and replaced Deeks' hand back to continue applying pressure and asked another man to bring him some towels and something to use as a bandage. "That bullet was meant for me," he said with a questioning look.

"Maybe," said Deeks. "Didn't really have time to think about it, just acted on instinct."

"Well, I think your instinct just saved my life, so thanks, man," Jameson replied.

"Who were those guys?" asked Deeks.

"Not sure. And I'd really like to know how they found out about this place."

Just then two Brothers came around the side of the house, dragging one of the attackers who was still alive, though barely, with gunshot wounds to the chest and thigh. Jameson jumped down from the porch and approached the man, who'd been unceremoniously dropped in the dirt. "Hey!" he yelled, gripping his cheeks and giving him a small slap to get his attention. The man's eyes focused on Jameson, who continued, "Tell us who you are, and how you know about this place, and I promise we'll get you patched up and let you go."

The man laughed and moaned, clearly not believing the promise he'd just been made. Jameson reached into the his pockets and pulled out his wallet. "Jason Pierce, from Lake Elsinore." He pulled out a knife and Deeks prepared himself to watch Jameson end the man's life. He knew there was nothing he could do to safely stop it without getting the both of them killed and ending the operation prematurely, and by the looks of things, Pierce didn't have much time left anyway.

Instead, Jameson grabbed Pierce's shoulder and cut through his camo shirt to expose his arms. Then he ripped open what was left of the man's t-shirt underneath. He stood back and said, "The tattoos tell the tale." The other men around him murmured in agreement as they took in Pierce's ink. Deeks stood up and came closer, seeing some fairly generic looking swastikas and other Nazi emblems on his shoulders, and a large letter A crossed by an F in the center of what looked like a rifle scope on his chest that had apparently provided the key identifying information.

"What's it stand for?" asked Deeks.

"He's with the American Front," Jameson explained. "They're based out in Riverside County. They heard about the weapons before we even stole 'em and wanted in on the operation. Johnson didn't want to work with 'em. They've worked with us before, and it hasn't always gone smoothly... I'd bet they've been stakin' out Stuart's place here, or maybe followin' us around L.A., tryin' to figure out where we've had the weapons. Assholes." He ended by kicking Pierce in the head and walking away, leaving him bleeding in the dirt.

By this point Deeks was feeling a bit peaked. Sweat dripped down his neck and back, and he went to sit down again, leaning back against the porch railing and continuing to put pressure on his throbbing arm. Jameson retrieved the supplies his man had delivered and asked him to get some water, then sat down and went about cleaning Deeks' wound. "You need stitches. Stuart can take care of it for you. Why don't you come on inside where it's just a little cooler? I don't want you to faint on me."

In his ear he heard Callen tell him, "You faint, Deeks, and we are coming to get you."

Again to everyone listening, he replied, "Real men don't faint," as he stood up on wobbly legs.

Jameson laughed, "OK, whatever you say Max." He reached out and grabbed Deeks' other arm and helped him up the stairs and inside.

Deeks appreciated the cool air in the house, courtesy of the heavy drapes blocking out the sun and the swamp cooler running in the corner. He heard the activity in the bedroom as the men fought to save Prickly. Jameson sat Deeks on the sofa and stuck a cool bottle of water in his hand, which he drank gratefully. He sunk back into the sofa and zoned out. When he opened his eyes, the men were quietly filing out of the bedroom and, Deeks assumed, leaving their fallen comrade. Stuart came out last and went to wash his hands in the bathroom before he came over to take a look at Deeks' arm.

He really didn't want some random desert rat to touch him, let alone stick a needle through his skin, but he didn't see any other options. He didn't want to leave it untended, and he couldn't very well walk into the California City Hospital without bringing down way too much attention. So he submitted to Stuart's ministrations and tried not to think about it, and not to puke, as the stitches went in, this time without the numbing agent they'd used a few weeks ago when trained ER staff had stitched up his knife wound. Just a few new scars, he thought to himself. Hopefully Kensi wouldn't mind.

When he was done, Stuart patted Deeks on the shoulder and told him to drink more of his water. He did, and then fell into a haze brought on by blood loss and crashing adrenaline.

Eventually Jameson roused him gently, asking him, "Hey Max, how're you feelin'?"

"I'm fine. I could use some more water?" he asked, not feeling energetic enough to get up to grab some himself. To keep his team from worrying, he added, "I'm good."

Jameson walked into the kitchen and returned with the cool water. As Deeks guzzled it down, he gave him a sitrep. "We counted eight dead Front members. Looks like they came in from the back, along the hills, usin' ATV's. We picked up all their weapons and are gonna bury 'em later. I updated Benny, and for now we're gonna go ahead and move forward with the Aryans. Then we're gonna head back to L.A. and do our last two meets back on the docks."

"Sounds like a plan," Deeks replied. The decision to move forward with the day's meet surprised him, but he realized it made sense. After all, what was left of the American Front had to be on their heels, reeling from their losses. And the Brothers were running out of time to get all the weapons dispersed and back across the country to their various destinations.

Jameson suggested Deeks sit this one out and remain inside. Deeks appreciated his protectiveness, but knew he still needed to tag the weapons cases. He told Jameson, "Yeah, I might do that, but let me take one more walk around the premises, make sure everything's squared away."

"Sure, OK, Max," Jameson agreed, squinting at him as if assessing his ability to actually walk the full perimeter. Deeks took a deep breath and stood, happy to see that he wasn't feeling too lightheaded. He walked out into the late afternoon air, still hot and dry and harsh. He strolled slowly around back, tracking the route he and Jameson had originally taken but stopping at the barn, where he entered to check out the SUV's holding the weapons cases. He pulled some Overwatch gel onto his fingers and went about his inspection, asking the men there to tell him about which weapons were being sold today and how many, and running his good hand over the cases and vehicles as they spoke.

Just as he'd accomplished his goal, he heard vehicles approaching in the distance, so he went back out front to stand with Jameson. He was surprised to see a group of eight minivans bumping along the rutted roads and pulling to a stop in front of the house. He had to stifle a smart remark and a laugh at the skinheads who exited the vehicles. He stood back and observed as Jameson greeted them and made the exchange. When it was over, he asked his friend, "Minivans, really?"

Jameson smiled broadly and said, "Yep, minivans. They said they'd be less likely to be pulled over by the cops. Tryin' to stay under the radar."

Deeks couldn't help but laugh at the image. "Yeah," he said. "That might just work, until they stop at a McDonald's and people see who's riding in those minivans… I do admire the creativity though."

"Agreed," said Jameson. He turned to shake Deeks' hand and told him he'd borrow one of the Brothers' cars for the drive back to L.A. and have Deeks' bike taken back for him. Deeks had no better ideas for getting himself home, so agreed to the plan. He slept the entire way back to Los Angeles, until Jameson woke him to ask for directions to his apartment. _Like you don't already know where I live,_ thought Deeks.

When Deeks got out of the car, the Brother driving his bike parked it, gave him the key, and got into Jameson's vehicle. Jameson told him, "Thanks again, Max. I owe you. Let's get a beer tomorrow after the meet with the Knights, OK?"

"Sure," said Deeks, "Sounds good. Night, fellas."

As he walked up to his apartment, holding his sore arm protectively close to his side, he thought to himself, _Two more to go, Deeks, two more and it's over._ Out loud, he couldn't help but utter, "What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

**A/N: The City of Mojave with its airplane graveyard, and California City, are both real places (I learned how to skydive there). Cal City, with its 14,000 residents, is geographically the third largest in the state and you can see its empty streets on Google Maps.**


	14. The Death of St Jimmy

_In the streets of shame  
__Where you've lost your dreams in the rain  
__There's no sign of hope  
__The stems and seeds of the last of the dope…  
__Jimmy died today  
__He blew his brains out into the bay  
__In the state of mind  
__In my own private suicide_

\- "The Death of St. Jimmy," Part I of "Homecoming," Green Day

**. . .**

_He was standing in the desert in the center of a vast, dry lake bed. The flat space stretched out before him in every direction. He spun around, searching for his team, but saw no one. He looked around again, sure that Kensi would be backing him up, but he was still alone. God, it was hot out here- he may as well have been standing in the bottom of a giant frying pan. He struggled to take off his leather jacket, but couldn't get the zipper unstuck. _

_Off in the distance, vehicles approached through the shimmering heat waves radiating from the ground. As they neared, he made out a row of old but brightly painted Volkswagen Beetles. The closer they got the clearer the zany paint jobs became. He saw polka dots and stripes and zig zags, and realized they were clown cars. _

_They pulled to a stop in front of him. Nothing happened, and Deeks' anxiety grew. Finally, all the doors opened and clowns started to pour out. At first Deeks found it amusing, and chuckled about how freaked out Sam would be if he were there. But then he realized the clowns all wore multi-colored fatigues and carried cartoonishly shaped rifles. _

_How could so many men fit into the little cars? They continued to come, lining up across from him and aiming their guns in his direction. Before they could fire, he sensed that his team had finally arrived to back him up. He peered behind him for Callen, Sam, and Kensi, but instead saw Jameson, Sepp, and the other Brothers all covering his back. _

_When the shooting started, chaos ensued in every direction. Deeks turned and saw Jameson fall and his heart clenched. He rushed to him and put pressure on the wound, but he could tell that Jameson was going to bleed out. Before he died, his friend looked up at Deeks and told him, "Why, Marty, why? We're brothers. Why did you betray me?"_

When Deeks woke, he lay still with his eyes closed, trying to keep the dull throbbing in his arm from pulling him all the way to consciousness. He wanted to hold onto the dream's details, to figure out what it meant. He'd become close with Jameson, and the man seemed to see him as a friend. But did he actually return the feelings? How could he possibly feel anything but revulsion toward a homicidal maniac who wouldn't think twice about torturing and killing Derrick, his own son?

Still, Deeks had literally taken a bullet for the man, reacting without thought to protect him. Why had he done that? It wasn't to maintain his cover. He couldn't possibly have processed that logic so quickly under fire. Was it to keep the Brothers' sanest leader alive so he could finish his mission and go home? He did believe the op had its best chance of success if Jameson continued in his role as Johnson's second in command, but that hadn't driven his reaction either. Maybe it just boiled down to his LAPD training and his general drive to protect people. Instinct, just like he'd told Jameson.

He hated this part of undercover work, where you had to rely on the bad guys to keep you alive, and he knew from past experience that fighting together sometimes led to bonds being formed in the battles waged. He thought once more about how Jameson had been raised surrounded by hate and had never had a chance to learn any alternative ways to understand the world. He saw a little of himself in the man, in their painful childhoods, except the lack of any better influences along the way had kept Jameson from finding a more constructive path in life.

Still, he had no choice but to move forward with his mission and try to put Jameson away where he couldn't hurt anyone. The man represented a clear danger to society, no matter the reasons he'd developed into the menace he'd become. He was beyond saving and Deeks needed to be at peace with that. Hell, if Kensi were with him, he knew she'd say he needed to take pride in his role in taking him down, so he tried to channel her thoughts as he slowly got up and prepared for his day.

* * *

The morning's meet – number eight of nine, Deeks kept reminding himself – went down at the usual spot on the docks and went off without a hitch. The White Knights departed for their return trip to Phoenix with their weapons, many of which Deeks had clearly marked with Overwatch gel when he helped load them into the Knights' vehicles.

Knowing how sore Deeks' arm would be, Jameson had picked him up in one of the Brother's cars, so after the meet, they headed back to Augie's Tavern together so Jameson could thank him properly for saving his life the previous day. By the time they arrived, Johnson was parting ways with a man named Thomas Ruttels, the head of the Knights. He gestured for them to join him at his newly empty booth.

After they'd sat and had a round of beers delivered to the table, Jameson asked, "Did everything go OK with Ruttels?"

"Yeah, he's on board with the master plan," Johnson said. He looked Deeks over with an appraising eye and asked, "How are you doing, Max?"

"I'm good," Deeks replied, fighting back a wince at the very thought of his arm, which still complained every time he moved it.

"I heard how you had Jameson's back yesterday. Thank you for looking out for him. He's important to the group, and to me." Johnson looked at Jameson with a paternal fondness that resonated with Deeks, who noticed a warmth he hadn't thought possible in Johnson's previously cold grey eyes. In that moment he understood exactly why Jameson, who'd grown up without a loving father, would gravitate to a strong man like Johnson, who seemed to genuinely care about his men. Deeks had witnessed that same devotion to him in Dexter and many of the other Brothers. But he also knew Johnson would sacrifice them all in a heartbeat to save his own skin. It just didn't appear that Jameson, or any of the other Brothers, saw the man quite so clearly.

"Jameson has had my back too," Deeks replied. "He's a strong leader. He's got the men's respect." Jameson gave Deeks a small nod in thanks for the recognition.

"Still," said Johnson, "You took a bullet for him. And yet you don't even support our cause."

Johnson's implicit question was why. Why Deeks had acted to protect Jameson. If only he knew. He responded, "What can I say, I didn't really have time to assess the situation. I just acted on instinct. Guess I just like the guy." Jameson smiled and drank his beer.

"Yeah, well, I wish we could convince you to join us permanently, but I don't see any evidence that our beliefs are making a dent in that scruffy head of yours," Johnson said, seemingly sincerely wishing he could permanently recruit Max to his crusade.

Deeks felt only revulsion at the idea, but forced out a small chuckle, telling them, "Yeah, sorry. I'm just looking for a nice paycheck. Politics, or revolution, or whatever you want to call it, ain't my thing."

"We aim to make it everybody's thing," Johnson said with complete seriousness. "Our actions are going to affect everyone eventually, even you Max." Johnson's ambitions sounded more like delusions of grandeur, and Deeks suddenly felt like he was being recruited into a cult.

He tried to use Johnson's big talk to get him to spill some details about their operation. "What's gonna happen after the big day on August first?" Deeks asked, leaning in and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Your contact at whatever military base it is you got those... items from, are they gonna be able to keep helping you with your supply needs? Maybe we could continue our business arrangement, like if you need ongoing assistance with transport or security." He didn't think Johnson would reveal anything useful about the Pendleton ghost skins, but thought it was worth a try.

"I have contacts at quite a few bases, actually, so I'm hoping to broaden the flow of uh, supplies, way beyond this one shipment. It's dominos, right Jameson?" he said, turning to his right-hand man.

"Yeah, Benny, dominos." Jameson elaborated to help Deeks understand. "We start with flashpoints in different cities, places that have become unlivable for decent people. We inspire others to follow our lead. We build our own army and eventually the military bases become ours. We'll have _all _the supplies we need to carry out the revolution."

Deeks was tempted to make a smart remark about the group insanity he saw playing out before him, but refrained. Their master plan's grandiosity creeped him out and made him wonder exactly how much damage they could do before they'd be stopped. "All right then," he said, "We'll just plan to keep in touch. It would be nice to work together in the future."

"And in the short term," Johnson told him, "You'll see a nice bonus in your final paycheck as a thanks for your fine work with us."

"I appreciate that," Deeks said, "Thanks Benny."

* * *

The next week passed like the previous few and on July twenty-fourth, a week before the planned Day of the Rope, the Brothers completed the final weapons sale, to the Nazi Low Riders from San Francisco. Deeks tagged the weapons without problem. When he drove away from the docks, heading for Max's apartment, he finally felt free of the heavy responsibility he'd carried for the past month. All that remained was to pick up his payment the next day and then play out his time as Max until the FBI carried out its nationwide raid.

When he got back to his apartment, he called into Ops to debrief. Nell, Eric and Hetty were joined on the call by Agent Rand. She told them that all the weapons across the country were being surveilled, and that the raids were tentatively scheduled to go down early on the twenty-seventh, a Saturday morning when they expected most of the groups to have relatively light guards. They would secure the weapons and take down as many of each group as possible. The manpower involved was impressive, and Deeks allowed himself a small surge of pride at his role as the linchpin of such an important operation.

* * *

_He was relaxing in Augie's with Johnson and Jameson. A board game with a map of the United States sat before them on the table. Various tiny trucks – and a few minivans – were spread out on the map. Johnson rolled some dice and moved the final pieces into place over San Francisco. He leaned back in his chair and declared, "I win!" with a big smile. _

_Then he reached over to the board's side and tipped over a domino, the first of what Deeks realized were many, dozens and dozens lined up on the table and all the way around the bar. He watched, mesmerized, as they fell sequentially, working their way around the space, until finally leading back to the game board. When the last domino fell, it landed on a detonator that triggered small explosions on the board, one in each of the ten cities Johnson had claimed during the game. Johnson's laugh of delight echoed on and on, and when he clapped Deeks on the back in celebration, he awoke._

Deeks took a ragged breath and ran a hand down his face, thankful once again to be out of his nightmares and back into reality. It might not be pleasant here either, but it was better than his dreams. He ate, dressed, touched base with the team who'd be on overwatch down in Wilmington, and headed out for what he hoped would be his final interaction with bad guys for the rest of his life.

* * *

When Deeks pulled into the truck stop and drove through to the old filling station in back, he was surprised to see only two other bikes parked outside. As soon as he shut off his engine, he heard Hetty in his earwig sounding a warning, telling him, "Be careful, Mr. Deeks. We've just gotten word from Agent Rand that the Brothers are on the move this morning, loading up their weapons and heading out of Desert Hot Springs, driving west toward Los Angeles." Deeks sighed, wishing he could turn around and drive away, but he didn't want to raise any red flags with the Brothers, so instead he walked inside to finish his assignment.

* * *

Eric's update to the team had come before Deeks exited the freeway, but they all knew he couldn't hear anything over the roar of his motorcycle. Still, the idea that something had gone amiss with the Brothers of the Rope had put Sam and the others immediately on guard. They had no reason to believe Deeks was in any immediate danger, no reason to think his cover had been blown, but Sam was still glad they'd heeded Kensi's plea earlier in the day to send the whole team - Sam, Callen, Ehsan, and Nicole - all down to Wilmington to provide overwatch on the final chapter of Deeks' assignment. They'd parked on the street and Ehsan had taken up the same position he had previously, sneaking into the back of the auto wrecking yard next door and poised to leap the fence if needed.

"What do you think, G?" asked Sam, anxious about their lack of options as Deeks pulled up and entered the filling station.

"I think we have to let this play out," Callen told him. "We can't breach the building without knowing what's waiting for us inside, and we don't want to blow the whole op wide open without a specific reason."

"Yeah, you're right," Sam sighed. "I just hate how blind their signal jammers make us, that we can't see what's happening on his button cam… I wonder if we should've told him to take out his earwig."

"Let's just focus on what to do next, OK?" Callen advised.

* * *

"Hey Max," Jameson greeted. He smiled but Deeks didn't think it went all the way to his eyes. His spidey senses started tingling in full force. He thought about backing out, "remembering" something he left with his bike and then hightailing it for the road, but didn't want to blow his cover and with it, the entire nationwide operation. There was a lot at stake here and he admonished himself for his paranoia.

He looked around, seeing only three other Brothers: Dexter, Sepp, and a powerfully built ex-con Deeks knew by the ironic nickname of Peanut. He couldn't see if anyone else was out in the station's garage area, but the place was definitely quieter than the last time he'd come. Jameson sat at the table in the office space, a cup of coffee and a few papers in front of him. He gestured for Deeks to join him and he did, first helping himself to coffee before sitting down across from Jameson. Once he was seated, Sepp and Peanut, who'd been standing behind Jameson, slowly fanned out until they covered each of the rooms' corners behind Deeks. A ripple of fear passed through him. He heard a little voice in his head – whom he was sure wasn't Max – warning him he was no longer safe.

He eyed the men who now subtly surrounded him and asked, "What's up, fellas? Why do I get the feeling you're having a bad morning?"

Jameson studied him with what Deeks interpreted as a touch of sadness. He told him, "We got some bad news late last night, Max. Bad news that someone we trusted betrayed us."

Jameson leaned back in his seat and waited for Deeks to reply. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. By now he'd concluded that he'd been made, but on the off-chance he'd misinterpreted the situation, he had to play along as Max as long as he could.

"Well, shit, that sucks. Who was it? And is your big operation still on track?"

Jameson replied, "Why don't I tell you how we found out. It's kind of an interestin' story." To Deeks' ear, Jameson's usual drawl was definitely lacking its customary warmth.

"Sure," Deeks replied, hoping against hope that Jameson's story might lead in a different direction than, deep down, he knew it was heading.

"Well, you know how we have ghost skins at LAPD, right?"

Deeks' stomach sunk at the mention of his old employer. He focused on controlling his breathing and said evenly, "I didn't, actually, but I'm not surprised."

"Some of our brothers in the ranks got wind of what happened to an undercover officer checkin' out white nationalist groups. You remember our guest who called himself Manny and claimed to be Homeland Security?"

"Of course I remember," Deeks said, waiting to hear the details of Jameson's story to see if he had any room to spin himself out of trouble.

"Yeah, well, word got out that an LAPD undercover officer had been tortured and nearly killed at the same time as Manny was under our supervision. _Nearly_ killed," Jameson stressed the word that told Deeks exactly how much trouble he was in.

"What are you trying to say?" Deeks asked.

"The officer they heard about was rescued and hospitalized, but he made it," Jameson told him. Deeks remained silent, waiting for the rest of the story. "First we thought it was just a coincidence, that maybe there were two different undercover operators. But our inside men saw him, confirmed his ID. Even sent us a picture." Jameson flipped a printed page over and tossed it in Deeks' direction. He saw the face that would haunt his dreams forever, the face of a man he'd originally known as Manny but whose ID confirmed him to be Detective Isaac Leibovitz.

"A fucking Jew," Dexter said, inserting himself into the conversation. To Jameson he said, "You shoulda let me kill him in the trailer."

As Deeks took in the information, he began to calculate his best odds for making it out of the situation alive. He debated whether to draw his weapon, tackle one or more men to the ground, wait to see if his team would intervene, or even try to press ahead with his cover story. As he thought through his available options, Jameson continued. "Shit, Max, or should I say, Martin Deeks, you fooled us good," he said. "Well, everyone but Dexter here. I have to give him credit. He never trusted you."

Jameson threw another printed image in Deeks' direction. This one landed on top of Isaac's, and it was his own old LAPD identification. "We don't know who you're workin' for now, but you made us look like fools, and we're gonna make you pay." Deeks no longer saw sadness in Jameson's eyes. He saw only hatred.

* * *

"This is taking too long," Sam said, growing increasingly anxious waiting for Deeks to walk out of the building.

"If he'd been made, they wouldn't wait around to take him down here, knowing he'd have back-up, right?" Callen posited. Sam shot him a doubtful look as they both listened to Kensi asking Eric to review the surveillance footage of the filling station's comings and goings from the camera Ehsan had set up in the wrecking yard during Deeks' first visit here. She wanted to know if Johnson was inside.

When Eric and Nell had run through the footage, they said, "It looks like there are six Brothers inside, including Jameson and Dexter, but no sign of Johnson. He may be supervising the weapons transfer-" Nell offered.

Kensi cut in, her voice breathless, "-Or he may be covering his own ass. Listen guys, Johnson hasn't attended a single meet. He hasn't placed himself at the scene of a single crime. He's smart and paranoid. If Deeks has been made, he's not going to take revenge himself, no matter how much he wants to. He's going to send his psychopath pseudo-son Dexter to do it."

Sam felt in his gut that Kensi was right. He told Callen, "I have an idea." He jumped out of the car and jogged across the street, standing just past the truck stop. When the first semi without a trailer pulled out into the street, he flashed his badge and pulled it over. He ordered the driver out of the vehicle, told him he was commandeering the truck and directed him to wait at the recycling plant across the street. He drove the truck around the block and back into the truck stop, pulling all the way to the back and parking as close as he could to the filling station. He was maybe fifty feet away.

* * *

Deeks figured the longer he could keep Jameson talking, the better the chances of the team coming to his rescue. He decided to try to play on the semi-real relationship he'd built with the man, telling him, "You surprised me, Jameson. Or should I say, Ian?"

His use of Jameson's real name seemed to surprise the man, who remained silent. Deeks pressed on, "I never expected to like anyone I met on this assignment. I stand against every single thing you believe. But somehow, the two of us found common ground. We fought together." Deeks pushed as hard as he could on Jameson's emotions, telling him, "In some weird way, I came to see you as a brother."

Deeks waited to see if his words might elicit any hesitation from Jameson, any sign that he wasn't totally on board with carrying out whatever ugly fate Johnson had ordered for him. He watched Jameson staring at him, seeming to consider his words. The man sat silently for a few seconds, but then his expression morphed into one of disgust and he shook his head and told Deeks, "I believed that, _Martin_, I did. And I know you saved my life, and I'll always find that to be the damndest thing. But it doesn't change your betrayal. You betrayed me, my brothers, and our cause. You are a traitor, plain and simple, and you have to pay."

By this point two other men had come in from the garage area. At a small signal from Jameson, they all pulled their weapons. One approached Deeks and took his gun, and they pulled him up and slammed him down on the table, holding him down while they searched for and removed his back-up weapons.

"You know you're gonna go down for this right?" Deeks told them, his voice rising. "There's a reason Johnson isn't here. He never does his own dirty work. Doesn't that piss you off? Don't be a brainwashed cult member, for god's sake. You're too smart for that."

As the men held Deeks' arms and pulled him up by his jacket, Jameson got right in his face, telling him, "Benjamin Johnson is a great man, a great leader. We'd be nowhere without him. Don't try to come between us, you rat-fuck son of a bitch."

The men manhandled Deeks out into the garage area, where he saw a few bikes and a single car and next to it, hanging from the garage's slide-up door mechanism, a noose. Panic and adrenaline rushed through him and he pushed back against one of the men holding him, slamming his foot into the man's ankle and then pulling an arm free and taking a swing at another man. A blow to his head staggered him and he was easily brought under control and shoved under the rope, which Dexter quickly looped around his neck.

Jameson told him, "This ain't no suicide mission for us, Martin. We're gonna put your dead body into the trunk of this car and drive it right outta here, right under the nose of your colleagues out there stakin' us out. We'll leave the motorcycles outside and they'll think we're all still in here, laughing it up together. When they come lookin' for you, they're gonna find nothin' but some RDX set to explode in their faces. But you don't need to worry about them, you'll already be dead."

Dexter moved up into his face and told him, "It's not August first yet, but in the Day of the Rope, rats and traitors are the first to hang. You get the special honor of being the first rat traitor to get the rope, and feel our wrath." He spat in Deeks' face and smiled.

* * *

Sam used his commandeered truck as a shield, moving first to the front end and then to the back to see if he could gain any sort of view into the filling station. When neither approach worked, he climbed up onto the top of the truck's cabin, but that failed as well. As a last resort, he got down on all fours and crawled forward underneath the truck, stopping behind the big rear tire to get into position to breech the building as quickly as possible. To his surprise, the garage's roll-up door started moving, stopping quickly after rising only a few inches.

* * *

As Dexter manned the control for the door opener, Deeks felt the rough rope start to tighten around his neck. He moved back slightly, seeking out any possible slack in the line, and reached his hands up behind him to grab the rope, trying to pull the noose looser. He centered himself under the spot where the rope attached itself to the door mechanism and braced himself, hoping help would arrive in time. He turned toward Jameson and tried again, saying, "I saved your life, man. I took a bullet for you. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Jameson just stood quietly and stared with what Deeks thought was disappointment in his eyes. He heard a loud scraping sound behind him and turned to see Dexter approaching, dragging a metal baseball bat across the cement floor as he walked. Deeks tried to prepare himself for what would come next as Dexter took his time circling him like one of the sharks from a recent dream, but he could do nothing more than wait for him to strike. He listened to the scraping sound as if it were a clock ticking down his last moments, knowing that when it went silent, pain would follow.

The blow still came as a surprise when one of the other men distracted him while Dexter was to his side, and the blinding pain in his right knee instantly caused him to collapse. He screamed out, but the sound was quickly cut off when the rope tightened around his neck as he fell. It was all he could do to push himself back up with his left leg, panting from the pain and trying to pull in air through the constricting rope. He clawed behind him to get his hands back up to the rope, trying to pull himself up and regain the small amount of slack, but the immense pain made it hard to focus and coordinate his movements enough to make it happen. As he struggled to right himself, the men stood and watched, laughing and shouting curses and other hate-filled words in his face. Eventually he regained his former position, hopping a few inches back into place without putting any weight on his right leg, which continued to scream with pain.

As soon as he'd regained his footing, he heard the roll-up door moving again for a couple seconds, further tightening the rope and forcing him to stand on his tiptoes while pulling down with his arms to try to maintain enough slack to avoid choking. Dragging in ragged breaths, he again heard the sound of the bat tracing its ominous path over the floor and he braced himself for the next blow. Dexter came up behind him and whispered in his ear, "All lives splatter, you fucking traitor."

A few seconds later his left wrist exploded in pain before he even registered the sound of the bat striking his arm. He immediately dropped his arm down and choked out a scream that was once again quickly stifled by the pull of the rope around his neck, and he hopped back into position directly under the noose in a desperate and failing effort to find slack, struggling for every wheezing breath he could manage.

Jameson moved into his field of vision, showing him a homemade sign that read "I betrayed my race," which he hung around Deeks' neck. Deeks' blurring vision prevented him from making out the words. Jameson slapped him lightly to get his attention, telling him "You're gonna die now, Martin Deeks, but know that we're gonna hang your body from the ruins of the buildings we destroy tonight, along with all the other traitors we round up when the vermin scatter before our firepower." He barely registered Jameson's voice over the whistling noise in his head and used his last remnant of consciousness to focus on staying upright.

Again he heard the bat dragging over the floor and braced himself for the next blow, knowing it would take him down for good. Fleeting thoughts of Kensi, Derrick and Delilah filled his mind but he didn't have time to dwell on the sadness his loss would bring them, or on all the happy memories he had yet to experience with them, because he was overcome by the power of the bat crashing into the right side of his chest. He thought he heard the crack of bones breaking and definitely felt the searing pain of newly broken ribs.

He swung away from the blow, like Dexter's personal piñata, and lost his footing. This time, the rope tightened too quickly for him to recover, and as his vision greyed, he knew he had lost the fight, hating that his life would end in the kind of violence he had tried so hard to leave behind. He managed one last momentary thought of Kensi before everything went black.

* * *

**A/N: Um, sorry? It was right there in the chapter title so you can't say I didn't warn you. ;-)**

**By the way, the wording of the sign Jameson hangs around Deeks' neck, and the idea of first killing those considered traitors to the race, were ideas taken directly from the white supremacist ****_Turner Diaries_****.**


	15. 21 Guns

_Do you know what's worth fighting for  
__When it's not worth dying for?  
__Does it take your breath away  
__And you feel yourself suffocating?...  
__When you're at the end of the road  
__And you've lost all sense of control  
__And your thoughts have taken their toll  
__When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul...  
__Did you try to live on your own  
__When you burned down the house and home?  
__Did you stand too close to the fire  
__Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone?  
__When it's time to live and let die  
__And you can't get another try  
__Something inside this heart has died  
__You're in ruins_

\- "21 Guns," Green Day

**. . .**

When the bottom of the roll-up door wound up a few more inches, Sam could just make out a cluster of feet in the garage. It took more than a minute of intently staring at the activity for him to determine which ones belonged to Deeks, and to realize that one of those feet was oddly hopping in place while the other men surrounded him. He didn't need to wait for more evidence that something had gone very wrong- he knew in his gut that it had. "Deeks is in trouble!" he shouted, "I'm going in."

Sam gave no thought to his own safety, recognizing only that his brother was in danger and that he needed to do whatever it took to save him. He raced for the door to the office side of the filling station and barreled through it, shooting down the first Brother who turned and tried to pull a weapon on him.

As he rushed into the garage, he stopped, shocked and horrified to see Deeks hanging from the rope, his feet touching the ground with his knees bent and no longer supporting his weight. His face was a horrible reddish color, his tongue purple and lolling from his mouth, his arms dangling limply by his side.

Sam eyed the five guns now pointed at him. He dropped his own weapon and with his hands raised, moved wordlessly but resolutely toward his friend, hoping the Brothers would welcome a new hostage – an African American no less – more than they'd enjoy shooting him on sight. He stepped under Deeks' unconscious form, not able to tell if he was even breathing, and scooped his legs under his shoulders, lifting Deeks above him and trying to keep his body as upright as possible to loosen the noose that gripped his neck so tightly.

Jameson gestured for Sepp and Peanut to cover the front and back office doors and ordered Dexter to let the garage's roll-up door back down all the way. Sam welcomed the extra slack in the rope, but it wasn't enough to allow him to reach up and pull it away from Deeks' neck.

He was quickly distracted by the remaining men - Jameson, Dexter, and a third man - who all circled him, spewing foul, hate-filled words. Dexter threw a punch toward his torso but Sam blocked it and shoved him back. While he was doing so, Jameson, who had picked up a bat, swung it viciously at Sam's back. He staggered and his knees started to buckle, but he kept his footing and turned to face the new threat. As he did, another strike came from Dexter's side. Then the third man joined in, all three raining blows down on him with their fists. Sam saw the gleeful look in Dexter's eyes and the angry one in Jameson's, and understood at a visceral level the stew of hate in which Deeks had been swimming. He could only hope Callen would arrive quickly, before time ran out for him and Deeks.

* * *

Callen realized everything had gone to hell but focused on how to get his whole team out of this situation as quickly and safely as possible. It wasn't easy, given that his own partner had just gone rogue, storming the filling station without consulting with him. He knew that whatever had set Sam off had to be bad.

"Eric," he commanded, "Cut the power to the building, or the whole block, whatever's fastest. We need to get eyes and ears on the inside. Ehsan, jump the fence and approach the back door, but be careful- they likely have someone guarding it. Nicole, you're with me on the front. Let's go."

* * *

Sam's vision had begun to cloud and he feared he would soon fall. He wasn't sure if the lights in the garage had gone out or if he was merely losing consciousness. He fought with everything in him to stay upright, but another huge blow from the bat Dexter now held dropped him to his knees, leaving Deeks hanging limply once again. With his last remaining strength, Sam struggled to regain his feet, again propping Deeks up and putting a little slack back into the rope.

As he huffed from the effort and the pain, Sam looked on as Dexter swung the bat at his head. He couldn't escape without dropping Deeks, and instead blocked the blow with his forearm. He felt the bones shatter and the pain and shock of it dropped him to his knees once more. Before he could try again to get up, gunshots filled the air.

* * *

Once Eric had cut power to the building, Deeks' button cam had come online, giving Kensi and the whole team a glimpse of the newly dimmed garage space. They could barely make out the angry faces of Dexter, Jameson and another man who all circled slightly below Deeks. They also heard the sound coming from Deeks and Sam's comms, which revealed what appeared to be Sam taking punch after punch.

They heard nothing from Deeks and his silence screamed a soundless alarm. They struggled to understand exactly what was happening until Deeks' button cam swung downward and rested on Sam, who'd fallen below it. As the image swung slightly back and forth, they watched as Sam fought to stand and apparently, to pick Deeks up.

"Oh my god," Kensi heard Nell next to her, "they're hanging him."

All Kensi could think was _No, No, No, No, No_. Her entire world imploded around her, and she yelled out, "Callen, get in there now!"

* * *

Callen had listened to the sitrep from Eric and Nell on Sam and Deeks' location in the building and the number of men around them, and he, Nicole and Ehsan had started shooting at the Brothers guarding the two doors. Ehsan hit Sepp first as he covered the back door and he dropped with a bullet to the temple. Ehsan breeched the back just as Peanut turned from the front toward his fallen brother, giving Callen the opening he needed to take him down. The three agents rushed into the office and then into the garage where Nicole quickly took out the third man, who had turned to them with his weapon raised.

Callen stopped short at the dimly lit sight of his partner struggling to his feet, one arm hanging at an odd angle by his side as Deeks' clearly unconscious form hung limply from the rope attached to the ceiling. His own breath caught as he watched Dexter and Jameson move themselves behind Sam's huge frame, their weapons now drawn. Dexter even helped Sam back to his feet, back to supporting Deeks, in an effort to give himself a larger shield.

The three agents started slowly spreading themselves out in the space. Callen gasped out to the Brothers, "You've got nowhere to go. Drop your weapons now and you can live to fight another day."

Even with just the light spilling in from the two open office doors and the small gaps in the garage's boarded up windows, the vivid sight of Deeks' flushed face made it almost impossible for Callen to stay calm and give Dexter and Jameson a chance to give themselves up. He'd happily have started shooting but knew they wouldn't hesitate to kill Sam and Deeks if they thought they were going down themselves.

"Fuck you!" Dexter shouted, all the while remaining hidden behind Jameson and Sam.

"Come on, Ian," Callen said, trying to reason with the cooler of the two heads. "Think of all the new converts you can bring over to your cause while you're completing your sentence. You can have a bigger influence on the world if you stay alive than if you die in the next ten seconds, because that's all the time I'm giving you to decide."

It only took Jameson a few seconds before he threw his gun to the floor, but his surrender just seemed to make Dexter madder. "You loser, Jameson. Screw this. Screw all of you!" he shouted. Dexter moved his gun upward and pointed it at Deeks' head, but Jameson shoved him away, causing the shot to go wide of its target and giving both Callen and Nicole a clear angle to take him down. He fell to the ground with bullets to the head and chest.

Ehsan moved to take Jameson into custody as Callen leapt forward to take Deeks' weight off of Sam, who then collapsed back to the ground. Nicole grabbed a nearby stool and pulled it over, climbing on top to pull the noose from around Deeks' head, and Callen carefully lowered him to the ground.

"Be careful with his neck," Sam wheezed out.

Callen looked at Deeks' neck, which was bright red and covered in multiple scrapes, and ever so gently, with shaking hands, reached out to see if Deeks still had a heartbeat. To his happy surprise, he felt one. "I've got a pulse. It's weak, but it's there."

"He's not breathing, G," Sam said, stating the obvious, as Callen bent down to confirm the observation and start mouth to mouth. "Be careful tilting his neck," Sam continued his instructions.

Callen did as he was told and started trying to get air into Deeks' lungs as Ehsan opened up the garage doors all the way, letting sunlight in to illuminate the horror. Callen didn't think he'd ever forget Deeks' appearance, and he fought to reverse the damage that had been done to his friend. He heard Nell reporting that LAPD and ambulances had already been summoned and were only ninety seconds out.

When the first ambulance pulled into the lot, Callen stood back and watched as they took over life-saving duties. He wanted to throw up at the clear evidence of the violence Deeks had suffered. Instead, he moved to comfort his partner, who himself looked to be in poor shape. When the second ambulance arrived, Callen fell back a second time and watched the collective efforts of the EMT's caring for his friends.

* * *

_Deeks felt himself floating, adrift once again. It was nighttime on the quietly bobbing waves, and he couldn't make out anything around him in the darkness. He saw nothing, but sensed an evil presence lurking just beyond the fog that swept in to further obscure his vision. He heard an eerie scraping sound and he was afraid. He knew it had come for him, and he knew there was nothing he could do to escape its judgment, and its wrath. He could only wait as the fog grew heavier and heavier, and the air colder and colder. When he finally felt an icy, bony hand taking firm hold of his neck from behind, he tried to scream but only a hoarse whisper escaped his constricted throat. _

He felt hands continue to pull at him, but the gentleness of their touch surprised and comforted him. He heard voices speaking to him, but instead of hateful words, they sounded encouraging, reassuring. He let himself drift back into the floating darkness.

* * *

_The angry men surrounded him, calling out vile words of hate. One taunted, "You know what you did, you were one of us." Another said, "You were my brother, but now you're just scum." _

_Another moved right up into his face, his red eyes ablaze with fury, and shouted, "Rats and traitors get the rope first!" _

_Before he knew it, a rope flew around his neck and he was pulled up, higher and higher, until he could see the landscape all around him. Burned out and demolished buildings stretched out before him across the city. Innocent people screamed as they were shot down trying to escape. His vision slowly blurred until he could only hear the fires blazing nearby, and the continuing screams. He was slowly dying. He couldn't stop the sounds of the screams from filling his mind, and he knew they'd be the last things he'd ever hear._

Slowly, over the screams in his head, he heard a familiar voice softly calling to him. "Deeks, it's OK. You're OK, baby," it said. Warm hands embraced his own, and he thought someone might have kissed his forehead, and he was confused. "Can you open your eyes for me, Deeks? Please open your eyes, baby. You're safe now."

He didn't understand where he was or what was happening. He only knew the reassuringly familiar voice brought love and safety, so he did what it told him to. It took a few tries, but he finally opened his eyes to a blurry, dimly lit space he was pretty sure was a hospital room. He saw the person with the familiar voice slowly come into focus and recognized his wife.

He closed his eyes in relief at the knowledge that Kensi was with him, and that her presence might mean his work was – finally – done. He listened as she told him how much she loved him, and a few tears fell from his eyes before unconsciousness quickly pulled him back under.

* * *

_He heard his mother's voice sounding troubled and he moved to find the source of her concern. He stepped around a dumpster in a dark alley to see her being threatened by a man with a baseball bat and he leapt in front of her as the bat crashed into his chest. He collapsed in pain and looked up at his attacker to see his father's angry face telling him, "Rats and traitors, Martin, rats and traitors."_

"It's OK, Martin, you're OK. Open your eyes, sweetheart," he heard his mother calling. He didn't understand what she was doing there, unless he was dying. He did as she instructed and tried to call out for Kensi, but no sounds came. His heartrate accelerated as he tried and again failed to speak, looking around to see his mother on one side of his bed and Kensi on the other.

Kensi grasped his hand firmly and told him, "It's OK, Deeks, you're OK. Stay calm for me, alright? Don't try to talk." With her other hand she carded her fingers through his hair, and in a soothing voice she instructed, "Look at me, Deeks."

He looked into her eyes and saw love and confidence and a fair bit of fatigue, but he didn't think he saw grief, and hoped that maybe he wasn't dying after all. "You're going to be fine, Deeks, you're going to be _good_, OK? They had to put a tube in your throat to make sure you could breathe, but it's only gonna be there for a few more days. You had surgery on your neck, on your larynx, to repair the damage. So while the tube's in place and a few days after, you won't be able to talk. You'll need to rest your voice to make sure you heal. OK?"

He felt for the tube Kensi described and realized his left wrist was in a cast. He looked at her in an effort to get more information about his injuries. She read his silent question and told him, "Your wrist is broken but it'll heal. You also have a broken kneecap that's in a cast, and you have some badly broken ribs." Tears glistened in her eyes as she continued, telling him, "You went through a lot, baby, and I'm so sorry it happened, but the doctors say you're going to make a full recovery."

He wondered why he wasn't in terrible pain from the laundry list of injuries and decided he must be on some good drugs. He had trouble remembering how he had sustained all those injuries. He knew he'd been under with the Brothers. Visions of their angry faces dancing around him, and then a tightening noose, floated through his mind, but the images failed to gel into a clear series of events. They did serve to raise his anxiety level.

The stress along with the frustration of not being able to communicate hit him forcefully and he grimaced in anger. He had so many questions, but they all floated away as quickly as they popped into his mind. He wanted to scream out his exasperation, and his inability to do so only upset him further. Kensi rubbed her fingers along his newly full beard, pulling his attention to her, and she reminded him, "Don't try to make any sounds, but remember I can read your lips, baby, so we can still communicate."

He would have blown out a breath in relief but the tube in his throat prevented any air from escaping that way. He settled on mouthing his main question, asking Kensi, "I'm not dying?"

She smiled and it was as if another light had been turned on in the dim room. He felt her hand move to ghost over his face and into his hair and he leaned into her touch as she assured him, "No, Deeks, you're not dying. You're gonna be fine... Good. You just need to rest and let us take care of you, OK?"

"It's over?" he mouthed.

"Yes, baby, it's over. You got all the bad guys and your job is done," she assured him in a voice heavy with emotion, before leaning in to kiss his forehead.

On his other side, he heard his mother talking to him, telling him how much he had scared her but that she was going to take very good care of him. He looked at Kensi and didn't even have to mouth his question, knowing she would understand he wasn't up for dealing with Roberta's anxiety. Kensi gave him an equally silent reply, a slight shrug of her shoulders and tilt of her head that indicated she understood how he felt and that his mother's presence hadn't been her idea. He felt the drugs and exhaustion pulling him back under as both women continued to try to comfort him.

* * *

_Taunting men swinging knives surrounded him even as the rope around his neck grounded him in place. He knew his team was right outside and he waited for them to come. He knew they would come, it was only a matter of time. He just had to hold out a little longer. Sam and Callen wouldn't let anything happen to him, would they? Where were they? Why weren't they coming? Familiar feelings of abandonment descended as he struggled to keep himself upright and alive._

He awoke with a start and looked down to see Kensi dozing in her chair, her head resting on the bed next to his good arm. He reached out to move a few stray hairs from her face, comforted more than he'd thought possible by her presence. She stirred beneath his fingers and looked up with a smile, telling him softly, "Hey, baby. Do you need anything?"

His ribs ached through the pain meds, reminding him to stop reaching for things, but he shook his head in response and reached out for her hand. "You," he mouthed.

She took his hand and stood up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek, and then a second on his forehead. "I love you so much," she told him.

A question sprung to Deeks' mind, and once Kensi had moved back and could see his face, he silently asked, "Everyone else OK?"

She nodded, perching herself on the edge of the bed, and told him, "Yeah, everyone is OK… Do you remember what happened?"

"Sort of?" he replied, shrugging and then wincing at the pain it caused, making a mental note not to move that way again. "Dexter was there… Jameson. They were angry. I was made?" Kensi nodded, confirming his memory's accuracy. He continued, mouthing, "There was a noose?" The thought triggered a vivid memory of fighting against the rope as the sound of a baseball bat dragging on concrete filled the air. Deeks slammed his eyes closed and tried to fight the vision back down so he could focus on Kensi's news about the team.

She kissed him again, pulling his attention back to her, and reassured him, "You're OK now, Deeks. You're safe, baby…" As he settled down, she told him, "When we realized you were in trouble, Sam didn't hesitate to rush to your rescue. He raced into the garage and gave up his gun so he could get to you. He picked you up to get the tension out of the rope and while the rest of the team was working out the best way to breech the building, they started in on him. He took a beating but managed to keep you alive."

Tears sprung into his eyes at the knowledge that Sam had given himself up to save him. He was humbled and thankful, but then anger filled him at what the Brothers would have said and done to his friend.

Kensi continued her update, telling him, "He has a broken arm, some broken ribs, and a bunch of bruises, but he'll be fine. He's here too, due to be released in a couple days. Callen, Ehsan and Nicole are all fine." He nodded in acknowledgment of the information, grateful that no one had been killed.

"And Deeks," Kensi added, "I'm sorry about bringing your mom here. She'd been watching Delilah when it happened and I couldn't keep the news from her, I just couldn't. We didn't know if you'd be OK and you were in surgery for a long time, and I didn't think it was right to keep her in the dark. I'll try to keep her home with the kids as much as I can, OK?"

He gave a small smile and nod at her explanation, and her understanding that Bertie was a little too much for him to handle at the moment.

"Derrick knows you're in the hospital, Deeks. He keeps asking to come see you... Would you be OK with that?"

The mention of Derrick triggered sadness and confusion for Deeks. The reminder of what felt like his former life as a father overwhelmed him, as did the intensity of his love for his son and daughter. That world – his old life – felt so far away and he couldn't imagine allowing Derrick anywhere close to his current one.

He looked at Kensi pleadingly, shaking his head, mouthing, "Please, no, Kens. Can't handle that. Can't." Warm tears rolled down his cheeks at the distance he felt from his children, and the horror he felt at the prospect of exposing them to what he'd been through, and what he'd done, on his assignment. He didn't know how he'd bridge the gap, but for now, seeing Derrick was more than he could handle. "Sorry," he mouthed.

"No, baby, don't feel sorry. It's OK," she told him, leaning down to plant more soft kisses on his face, and to run her hands through his hair. "You'll be home before you know it, and we're all gonna be there to help you through this, to help you recover, and to get you back where you should be, with your family."

He couldn't picture himself back home, back to his happy life. He couldn't picture what path he could take to get there. The profound sadness he felt at being so lost kept the tears coming until exhaustion took him and he slept once more.

* * *

**A/N: Many apologies for my lack of medical training and my dependence on random websites for medical information. And a giant thank you to the wonderful macgyvermedical on tumblr and ejzah (tumblr and ff), who graciously answered a number of my questions in wonderful detail. If I didn't feel so guilty about bothering them, I'd have asked even more questions and gotten this closer to reality than I'm sure it is.**

**And yes, I borrowed Deeks' "Sam's in trouble" line from "Descent" and gave it to Sam. Figured it was time for him to return the favor.**


	16. Tales of Another Broken Home

_To live and not to breathe  
__Is to die in tragedy  
__To run, to run away to find what to believe  
__And I leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies  
__I lost my faith to this, this town that don't exist…  
__I don't feel any shame, I won't apologize  
__When there ain't nowhere you can go  
__Running away from pain when you've been victimized  
__Tales from another broken home_

\- "Tales of Another Broken Home," Part V of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

**. . .**

Deeks had been in the hospital for three days before he could stay awake more than a few moments at a time. Aside from the injuries he'd sustained, the stress and emotional repercussions of the entire operation had caused such extreme sleep deprivation that exhaustion had been added onto his list of diagnoses. He hadn't yet absorbed much information from the doctors who passed by on occasion, instead relying on Kensi to worry about his physical health, knowing she'd look out for him.

The downside of his protracted sleep was that it usually ended in a nightmare of one kind or another. They overwhelmed him, regularly assaulting him with harsh and twisted memories of pain he'd endured, or pain he'd inflicted. Both themes upset him but it was the infliction of pain he knew would haunt him the longest. He appreciated Kensi's continuous and reassuring presence and wished he could tell her how much it meant to him. She looked as tired as he felt, and he knew he should encourage her to go home to sleep and be with the kids, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Kensi provided him with love and support and hope that things would turn out OK, something he had difficulty envisioning. Beyond all that, she was the only person he could easily talk with. The nurses had given him a pad of paper and a pencil, but his grogginess and impatience kept him from using them most of the time.

Instead, so long as Kensi was there, he could communicate via her lip-reading abilities. They provided a lifeline to the world he'd otherwise be isolated from. Until the doctors removed the damn tube in his throat, hopefully in a few days' time, he remained stuck in limbo, unable to do much to work through his emotions and at the mercy of whatever visitors stopped by, having to listen to them without the ability to easily respond. Most of the time, he honestly wasn't sure if he preferred the waking pain and frustration or the nightmares that plagued his sleep.

* * *

_It was nighttime and he was back in the trailer at the dock. He looked around for Isaac but there was no sign of him. He felt caught in something and looked down at his hands to see that they were tied to the chair, that he was bound there and about to be tortured. Out of the shadows stepped Benny, his eyes angry. "You betrayed us, Deeks. You're a traitor." _

_Benny walked up to Deeks as other Brothers stepped forward, forming a circle and taunting him with hate-filled words. Benny walked around behind him and placed both hands on Deeks' shoulders for a moment before he slowly wrapped them around his throat and started squeezing. He wanted to fight back, to push Benny off him, but he couldn't move. Benny uttered a series of curses at him, except for some odd reason his voice now had a Russian accent, which caused Deeks' heartrate to quicken drastically. He couldn't see behind him to confirm his attacker's identity as Benny, or Sidorov, or whoever it was, just kept squeezing._

_He tried to shout for help, he tried to hurl his own curses back at his attackers, but no sound came out of his mouth. As he slowly began to lose consciousness, another, much smaller, figure emerged from the shadows. It was Hetty. She looked on sadly but didn't attempt to intervene. He gasped for breath as the hands squeezed even harder._

He realized Hetty had been speaking to him during his nightmare. He heard her say, "Mr. Deeks, everything is alright. You are alright. Can you open your eyes for me? Open your eyes, Martin."

He opened his eyes to see her standing at his bedside, her small hands holding his good one. He peered around for Kensi but didn't see her and closed his eyes tightly in frustration. He wanted to hit something and channeled his anger at the situation toward the only person available. He glared at Hetty and pulled his hand from her grasp, remembering all the reasons she was to blame for his current situation.

She gazed at him calmly, and said, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Deeks. For all that you went through, and are still experiencing. I take full responsibility for your pain, and shall do all I can to make sure you have everything you need to recover."

Her words deflated his anger a bit and, feeling guilty at his overreaction, he acknowledged them with a small nod.

"Mr. Callen has taken Ms. Blye out for lunch to give her a short break. She'll be back with you very soon… I wanted you to know that the FBI was able to leap into action immediately after we realized your cover was blown. They took possession of all of the stolen weapons, and took down most of the known members of all ten hate groups. Your work saved countless lives, Mr. Deeks. I hope you can take comfort – and pride – in your accomplishments. I know I do."

She patted him gently on the shoulder and he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him once more.

* * *

_He was with Jameson and the other Brothers, and it was the Day of the Rope. They were dragging people from their houses and hanging them from streetlights and overpasses. Deeks didn't participate, but he didn't try to stop them either. He remained a passive observer. They arrived at a familiar-looking house and pulled one of its residents outside. He realized it was his house, and the resident was Derrick. Deeks watched as the Brothers taunted him with unbelievably cruel words, but he didn't intervene. When the noose was placed around his son's neck, he awoke with a start. _

He didn't even try to stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. Kensi softly wiped them away, offering sweet words of love and encouragement. Deeks thought he might be physically sick from the horror of this latest nightmare. How could his subconscious concoct such a scenario? God, what was wrong with him?

He reached out his good arm and pulled Kensi closer, clinging to her, and to her belief in him. He couldn't understand it, couldn't see how she managed to believe he was a good person worthy of her love. Yet he didn't know how he'd survive without her, so he just continued to hold on as tightly as he could manage over the biting pain emanating from his ribs.

"Can you tell me what your nightmare was about?" she asked. "It would really help to talk about it. I know it's hard, so hard, but I'm here for you." She pulled back slightly so she could see his face and watch his response.

He shook his head, the tears still falling. "Too horrible to share," he told her.

"What made it the most horrible?" she prompted.

"Me. I was terrible. Didn't protect Derrick." He looked away, ashamed of his confession.

"Deeks, baby, it was a dream. Listen to me, OK? Your subconscious is trying to make sense of all the awful things that happened to you on this op. It's also taunting you with the worst version of how you see yourself." She took his chin in her hand and pulled it toward her. "Deeks, you would die before you let anything happen to our children. I have no doubt about that and I know you know it's true. Don't let your subconscious make you doubt yourself."

He believed Kensi's words, and knew she had a point. He _would_ die before he let anyone hurt his family. "Hard to remember who I am," he offered her.

She leaned down to kiss him and said, "That's what I'm here for, partner. I'm gonna keep reminding you who you are until it finally sinks into that thick head of yours, OK?" She smiled as she carded her fingers through his long hair, gently tugging the strands as if she could somehow burrow her hand right into his skull to straighten out his twisted thoughts.

"OK," he said as he closed his eyes and tried to relax into her touch and allow her words to penetrate deeply into his mind.

* * *

_He sat on overwatch above the brightly colored walls of Pershing Square as his old team searched a huge crowd for the Brothers. From his vantage point on a rooftop, he could see the men approaching, surrounding the crowd and readying their powerful weapons. He tried to warn the team, but no sounds came. He kept trying to scream, yet remained mute. He could only watch in horror as the Brothers launched their weapons into the crowd, and he futilely looked on as the bodies fell, including Sam, Callen, and then Kensi-_

He jerked awake to Kensi's soft voice pulling him from his latest nightmare. "It's OK, baby, you're OK. Open your eyes." He did as she instructed, looking up into her tired but beautiful face and finding comfort there even as his ribs throbbed with every breath.

"You have a visitor, Deeks," she said with a small smile, looking to the opposite side of the bed.

He slowly followed her gaze and saw Sam there, sitting in a wheelchair. He was covered in bruises, one eye still badly swollen, his left arm encased in plaster and hanging in a sling. Deeks could tell from the way Sam held himself how much pain he was in, and could only imagine what additional injuries the man had suffered to save his life. Tears threatened to fall as the heavy weight of responsibility crashed into him, and he turned away in shame.

"Hey, Deeks, it's OK," offered Sam. "Look at me." When Deeks didn't respond, Sam said again, softly but firmly, "Deeks, please look at me."

Deeks turned to his friend and Sam reached out his good hand toward him. Deeks took it, mouthing an "I'm sorry," that Kensi translated.

"No, Deeks. You don't get to be sorry for this. You did nothing wrong, OK? You didn't cause any of this to happen. We're the ones who are sorry. We let you down. _I'm_ sorry I didn't get to you quicker. I'm sorry we couldn't stop what happened to Detective Leibovitz, god I'm so sorry. I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

Deeks had carried anger toward the whole team since the op began, a generalized bitterness and frustration at having to carry out the assignment because none of them had come up with a better way to handle it all. But in this moment, he realized that Sam hadn't failed him, he had only protected him. Maybe none of them had failed him. After all, he hadn't had any better ideas himself on how to deal with the Brothers. And he had volunteered for the assignment, even though it hadn't felt like he'd had a choice. He easily told Sam, "Nothing to forgive," and realized he meant it. His profound gratitude at the lengths to which Sam had clearly gone in saving his life caused a few tears to escape and he told him, "Thank you."

"Any time, brother, any time," Sam replied, his expression completely serious.

"You OK?" Deeks asked.

"I will be," Sam reassured him. "Got a broken arm and some busted up ribs, but it'll all heal in time."

As Sam described his injuries, the pain in Deeks' own wrist and ribs flared in sympathy. He grimaced, letting go of Sam's hand to clutch at his own chest. Once he'd ridden out the pain, he looked back at Sam and told him, "I'm glad."

Sam continued, telling him, "Callen's been taking good care of me, and they just released me. I'm gonna recuperate at his house. He's making sure I have an actual bed to sleep in and everything."

The vision of Sam using one of Callen's few pieces of furniture brought a genuine smile to Deeks' face, the first one since he'd been admitted.

"Thank you for what you did," Deeks repeated. "Those men…"

"Those men were monsters and I'm proud to have helped you take them all down."

Deeks realized he hadn't yet learned the individual Brothers' fates. He hesitated to ask, afraid of finding out that any of them might still be on the loose, but his curiosity outweighed his fear. "What happened to them all?"

Sam looked to Kensi, seemingly unsure about how much detail to offer. She took over the update, telling him, "All the men at the garage that day, including Dexter, were shot and killed except for Jameson. He surrendered." She hesitated before continuing, telling him, "Deeks, he actually saved your life. Dexter was going to shoot you and Jameson knocked the gun off target."

Deeks didn't know how to process that information. The man had considered him a traitor, and yet in the end, he'd protected him from his sociopathic brother. What did it mean? He wasn't up for figuring it out at the moment, and turned back to focus on Kensi's continuing update.

She told him, "Several more Brothers were killed when the FBI moved in on them outside of L.A. Johnson wasn't with them when the sting went down, but he was located and arrested trying to flee the city. Basically the entire group has been taken off the street or eliminated."

Deeks gave a slight nod, closed his eyes and breathed a figurative sigh of relief. Knowing the Brothers had been fully contained brought him a sense of reassurance, a feeling that the world had become considerably safer.

Sam told him, "You should feel so proud, Deeks. That was one hell of a difficult operation and I don't know many people who could have pulled it off."

"Thanks, Sam," was all he could say in reply. Did he feel proud of himself? He wasn't sure. The operation's success made him happy, but his actions throughout had him doubting himself, and doubting whether he deserved to feel any pride at all in what he'd done.

* * *

About a week after he'd first been admitted to Long Beach Memorial, the swelling in his throat had subsided enough for the doctors to remove Deeks' tracheotomy tube. He felt an immediate lift from being able to breathe normally.

A speech language pathologist and respiratory therapist visited him and Kensi to assess his ability to breath and swallow. They explained that he needed to stay on voice rest for a few more days before he could start speaking. They wouldn't know if he'd experience any after-effects from his injuries until he started talking again.

He'd been receiving nutrients through a central IV line and would continue that for a few more days before they'd start him with actual food. Meanwhile, his doctors had been dialing back the pain meds slightly, and every time he shifted position, the sharp pain in his rib cage made the dosage change all too apparent. Overall it was a lot to deal with, and while he tried to see the bright side of his slow improvements, he fell back all too easily into frustration at his inability to communicate and at the physical pain he'd likely be experiencing for several more weeks.

He finally felt secure enough to encourage Kensi to take a break and go home to spend some time with the kids. Before she left, she attempted to convince him to reconsider letting Derrick visit, but he still didn't think he could handle it. So much was tied up in seeing Derrick or Delilah. He didn't want them to see him so hurt, worried it would scare them. He didn't want them to see him so emotional, and so depressed. He wanted to be strong for them, but he didn't think he was ready to even fake it. He still felt ashamed of himself for some of his actions on the operation, and still worried that he didn't deserve to return to his happy life with them.

In addition, he didn't know if it was even safe for the kids to be around him. He'd just come off a violent op where he'd seen exactly the level of violence he could still inflict, and to top it off, the doctors had actually listed "a propensity for violence" as a possible side-effect of near strangulation. He just didn't trust himself to be around them.

He typed some of this out on his phone, which he'd taken to using over the pad of paper. He texted it to Kensi and she reluctantly agreed to keep the kids away, but also scolded him for thinking he could pose a danger to any of them. And she reassured him that Derrick had more strength, resilience and understanding than he gave him credit for. Then she kissed him good-bye and left for the day.

A short time later, Hetty and Callen appeared in his doorway. He waved in greeting and they entered his room, Callen shaking his hand and gripping his shoulder, telling him how he'd visited a number of times already but he'd always been asleep. Hetty followed and rested a hand on Deeks' arm, telling him, "Mr. Deeks, it's good to see you, and very nice to see how much better you look from just a few days ago."

He nodded at her and started a text message to them both, typing, _How's Sam?_

Callen let him know that Sam was fine, although frustrated with Callen's inability to cook him anything nutritious. Hetty added that she'd taken the liberty of having a personal chef she knew prepare dinner for them each night. Deeks gave a small smile and a thumbs up at the update.

Hetty asked him, "Do you know what today is, Mr. Deeks?" He shook his head and she told him, "It's the first of August."

The news that the would-be Day of the Rope had arrived hit him hard. He laid his head back and looked up at the ceiling, blowing out a long, quiet breath as he tried to absorb the idea that, but for their operation, the day would have been filled with bloodshed and horror across the country. Hetty and Callen sat silently, letting him contemplate the news.

As tears began to fill his eyes, Callen finally interjected, "Today is just a regular day, Deeks, for all the people you saved. They're out there today, going about their lives, walking their dogs, taking their kids to school, seeing their friends… just living. And that's thanks to you."

They sat quietly for a bit longer before Hetty pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She unfolded it and began reading him a list of all the targets of the ten hate groups across the country who had planned to massacre innocent people on the Day of the Rope. Mosques, synagogues, churches, LGBTQ centers, convention halls hosting African American groups, Holocaust museums, soccer stadiums, cultural centers, schools, theaters. It was more than Deeks could possibly absorb. It overwhelmed him. How, but for a chance encounter on an L.A. street, could all of this have come so close to happening? The magnitude of the plans shook him.

When his mind had finally stopped running, he texted them, _So scary how close they came to pulling it off._

Hetty replied, "Yes, it is, Mr. Deeks. But a friend of mine used to say that worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy. I hope you'll be able to take tremendous satisfaction in the key role you played in the operation that did stop all those horrible things. You saved the lives of thousands of people. I know it wasn't easy, and you had to participate in some things you're not proud of, but please remember that at the end of the day, you did what you needed to do to save _all_ those people. Your sacrifice meant something, Mr. Deeks. It meant a great deal indeed."

Deeks took in Hetty's words even as the target list continued to revolve through his mind. He began to see her point. His actions _had_ led to a greater good, and he felt his burden of shame and guilt lifting a bit.

* * *

A few days after the thankfully still fictional Day of the Rope, Deeks' IV feeding line was removed and he got to enjoy a small bit of Jello. His speech language pathologist also came by and let him try speaking a few actual words. He chose a short, "Hi Fern, I love you," to Kensi as his first attempt. His voice sounded scratchy, hoarse, and weak, like he had terrible laryngitis, but his words made Kensi laugh even as she cried, and he was glad.

A few days after that, he was ready to be released. Since his broken ribs and wrist made crutches impossible, he was to be confined to an electric wheelchair while his knee healed. Being so immobile frustrated him, but he was grateful to be allowed to keep talking, even with the limits on volume and duration the speech pathologist had imposed.

The idea of seeing Derrick and Delilah caused Deeks the most nervousness. He feared he wouldn't handle the reunion well and that he would upset Derrick. Kensi assured him that she had given their son the pertinent details about his condition, that he understood Deeks had had a rough time on his assignment, and knew he needed to give Deeks love and support, but also space when he asked for it.

Deeks could only hope that he wouldn't screw things up too badly. Kensi had suggested Derrick come to the hospital to escort him home as a way of giving them time to themselves before inserting Delilah and Roberta into the mix, and he'd reluctantly agreed.

* * *

It had been two weeks since he'd nearly been killed by the Brothers of the Rope. He'd signed the release paperwork and sat in his wheelchair, nervously waiting for Kensi and Derrick to arrive. He heard a soft knock at the door, which then swung open, revealing his brightly smiling wife holding two baskets of goodies for the nurses, with their son standing quietly by her side.

He couldn't help the tears that sprung to his eyes at the sight. He hadn't realized until that moment exactly how much he'd missed the boy. He hadn't allowed himself to think about him, to really conjure him in his mind, for such a long time, and now Derrick stood there before him and the all-encompassing love he felt for him, the love he'd been denying himself, returned in full force.

"Derrick," he scratched out, reaching out his hand. Derrick quickly stepped forward but then paused as he reached Deeks, looking like he was afraid of hurting him. Deeks assured him, "You can hug me – I'd really like that - you just have to do it really, really, gently." The boy did just that, bending down and stretching his arms gingerly around Deeks' shoulders. Deeks' painful ribs wouldn't allow him to reach his own arms all the way around his son, but he did the best he could, telling him in a voice filled with emotion, "It's so good to see you. I missed you so much."

Kensi interjected quietly, instructing Derrick, "Sit there with Marty for a minute, OK? I'm just gonna check in with the nurses' station and give them their thank you gifts."

Derrick pulled the visitor chair over to where Deeks sat, sitting down beside him and looking him over. "How do you feel?" he asked somberly.

Deeks sighed, and replied in a cracking voice, "That's a complicated question, I think. But the short answer is that I'm getting better every day, and I think being home with you is only going to help me with that." He was surprised at how much he believed his own words even as the usual doubts filled his head. Still, he decided to cling to Kensi's belief in him, hoping she would turn out to be right. She usually was, after all.

"I'm glad you're OK," Derrick told him.

"Me too, buddy. Me too," he said as he wrapped his hand around the back of his son's head. He knew he couldn't really describe himself that way at the moment, but he allowed himself to believe that maybe he would be someday soon.

* * *

**A/N: Hetty's line about worry is a quote from a motivational speaker/USC professor named Leo F. Buscaglia. And thanks to Bluenet13 for providing some great constructive criticism about my transitions into Deeks' dreams. It was much appreciated.**


	17. We're Coming Home Again

_We're the ones going home  
__We're coming home again  
__I started fuckin' running  
__Just as soon as my feet touched ground  
__We're back in the barrio  
__But to you and me, that's Jingletown  
__Home  
__We're coming home again_

\- "We're Coming Home Again," Part V of "Homecoming," Green Day

**. . .**

As Kensi finally drove her husband and son home, a sense of relief flowed through her. Deeks had been so adamant about feeling unable to face his own son, so haunted by nightmares that battered his conscience, that she'd worried over how their reunion would go. At the hospital, she was sure her heart had grown several sizes watching Deeks' face as he'd taken in his son's presence and actually appeared to find comfort in it. The love that had shone out of his beautiful blue eyes gave her tremendous hope that between the four of them - counting Delilah and Monty - they'd be able to mend Deeks' emotional wounds while time healed his physical ones.

She also took great pride watching her son with his adopted father. Derrick had borne the stress of Deeks being away, and her lengthy absences as well, with maturity and grace. Sadly though, she attributed Derrick's composure in part to his own past traumatic experiences, and worried that he should have been expressing more emotion the whole time. She regretted that she'd only had enough time and emotional energy herself to offer what had felt like transparently insincere reassurances.

The assignment had been traumatic for all of them, and Kensi vowed to make sure Derrick got plenty of opportunity to express any pent up confusion, sadness or anger over what had happened, and that she would spend lots of time with him – and Delilah - to make up for having left them alone so much in the last seven weeks.

She'd spent nearly all of the past two weeks in the hospital with Deeks, only taking a couple nights off once he was able to speak for himself. It was exhausting, running home for quick breaks to check on the kids and try to provide them at least a token amount of love and comfort, only to turn around and leave them in the care of one of the moms so she could give Deeks the support he needed. She hadn't wanted to be anywhere else than by his side, but the guilt of her inadequate parenting weighed on her.

Having taken a leave of absence from work, she relished in having time now to try to be everything to everyone. It would be more tiring than any op, but it was where she belonged, with the family she and Deeks had built, and she resolved to make them all healthy and happy once again.

**. . .**

For Deeks, the trip home had proved exhausting but encouraging. He'd chatted briefly in the car with Derrick before falling asleep, thankfully not long enough to dream. When they got home, he was pleasantly surprised by the new ramp that had been prepared for his wheelchair at the garage door entrance.

His mother greeted him, holding little Delilah in her arms. At first, the girl seemed shy, wary even, no doubt disturbed by the combination of Deeks' long absence, his appearance, and the somber and hesitant expression on his face, but she warmed up quickly enough with Roberta's encouragement. Once he'd been comfortably ensconced in the living room with them all, Roberta had tried to hand Delilah over to Deeks but he'd been reluctant to hold his daughter, as squirmy as she was. He feared she'd jostle his ribs more than he could handle and he worried he might hurt her. But he did kiss her and after a few moments spent gathering himself together while an excited Monty provided a happy distraction, he started babbling soft but happy words to her, telling her how much he missed his Little D, as he called her.

After a short while, he found himself tiring and Kensi asked Roberta and Derrick to take Delilah up to her room for a nap. He hadn't closed his own eyes for more than a few seconds before he opened them to see Kensi standing before him with a pain pill and a glass of water in hand. He took them, one at a time with his good hand, and thanked her. She set the glass down and knelt in front of him, reaching out and lightly taking his left hand in hers, telling him, "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too," he whispered back. Before he could say more, Kensi had pulled his ring out of her pocket and slid it home where it belonged. She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of his fingers, and though her eyes were glazed with tears, her wide smile drew a smaller matching one from him in return and with his good hand, he pulled her head up to his and kissed her sweetly.

* * *

A few days later, Derrick stood looking out the kitchen window into the backyard. The man he had come to view as his father dozed quietly in the sun in his wheelchair with Monty resting patiently at his feet. Derrick took in Marty's leg in its cast, raised in front of the chair to keep it horizontal. He thought about the small scars and fading bruising on his neck. He hadn't wanted to stare, but couldn't help but study them whenever he came upon Marty sleeping.

It scared him to think about how close Marty had come to dying. Since his mom's death three years before, he'd made a new life with Kensi and Marty. He felt safe with them, and happy. He fretted over how close it had all come to being torn away from him once again. And even though Marty would physically heal, he worried that the man who'd always offered him so much love and reassurance, and had encouraged him to embrace the sillier side of life, might have been permanently changed by his experience.

He thought back to when he had first come to live with them and to how much love he'd immediately received from both his adoptive parents. He remembered how they'd encouraged him to talk about his own traumatic experiences, and decided he needed to step up and support Marty in the same way now.

Kensi had taken Delilah over to her mom's for the afternoon, so Derrick threw together a quick lunch and took it out to the patio table where Marty sat. As he moved closer, he heard a whimpering sound and realized it wasn't coming from Monty but from Marty, who appeared caught in a nightmare. He watched Marty's face slowly contort into a grimace and hesitated over whether to wake him. He didn't have to decide though, for when he set the plates down on the nearby table, the noise roused him. Marty looked momentarily troubled and confused before peering up at Derrick and wiping his hand over his face.

Derrick asked, "Are you OK, Marty?"

"Sure," he rasped out, glancing at the table. "Thanks for making lunch." They ate in silence, with Marty offering an occasional compliment for Derrick's culinary prowess, a pursuit he enjoyed. As they finished up, Derrick took the plates inside. He was tempted to leave Marty to his rest, but decided to try encouraging him to talk more about his experiences. He refilled their drinks and returned to the patio, hoping he might be of some help to this man he loved so much, but fearing he could make things worse.

**. . .**

When Derrick had returned and sat down beside him once again, Deeks inwardly sighed, wishing to be left alone with his morose thoughts. As relieved as he'd been initially to feel comfortable with his son rather than overwhelmed as he'd feared, he knew Derrick's intuition and inquisitiveness made it only a matter of time before his questions would start. He didn't think he could handle them and feared he would lash out in anger at the boy.

It didn't take long for Derrick to start talking. "I was thinking," he said, "About when I first came to live with you."

"Yeah?" Deeks asked, wondering where Derrick was steering the conversation and knowing somehow it would lead back to his own emotional state.

"Yeah. I was remembering how sad I was, and how scared I was to leave the house because I didn't feel safe... You always encouraged me to talk about what I was feeling."

Deeks sighed, now understanding where the kid was heading and not liking it one bit. "You're right, I did," he replied, not wanting to volunteer more until Derrick forced him to.

"It helped," Derrick told him earnestly.

Deeks looked at Derrick and then out into the yard. He thought back to all that Derrick had suffered in his young life, and to how traumatized he'd been first by his kidnapping, then his rescue and his father's death, and finally, watching his mother killed in front of him. The magnitude of all that hit Deeks and he realized he had no right to feel sorry for himself while this brave boy sat in front of him having faced his own demons.

Eventually he told him honestly, "I'm glad it did, Derrick. More glad than you'll ever know… And I know I need to talk about what happened to me too. It's just… it's really complicated and I'm not sure where to even begin."

Derrick nodded in understanding, but he pressed ahead, saying, "Can I ask you questions about it? You don't have to answer them if you don't want to."

Deeks found himself hoping for a phone call or impromptu visitor to interrupt this conversation. How could he possibly explain any part of his experience to his now sixteen-year-old son? Granted, the boy was incredibly perceptive, wise beyond his years, but Deeks knew that was largely due to all that he had experienced. Derrick already knew how awful people could be, and he didn't want to further darken his outlook on the world. Yet, how could he shut down his son's earnest efforts to help?

"OK, yeah," he rasped out. "I want to answer your questions, and I want to help you understand what happened. But, you'll have to let me stop if I need to, OK?"

"Sure," Derrick replied evenly.

"OK," Deeks said, blowing out a calming breath, hoping that he'd be able to handle whatever Derrick threw at him without breaking down in tears or exploding in anger. He didn't want his son to worry about him, or see him as weak. He wanted his respect, and he was pretty sure talking about the op would _not_ help him achieve any of those things. Yet he reluctantly forged ahead, not wanting Derrick to feel rejected. "What would you like to know?"

Without skipping a beat, Derrick asked, "What are your nightmares about?"

The question hit Deeks hard, seeing as it kind of covered the entire operation. He had no idea how to respond. He'd been tormented by changing nightmares for the past seven weeks. He took as deep a breath as his sore ribs would allow and replied, "That's a tough question. They're almost all different... But when I try to analyze them, I see that most of them are about somebody hurting me," he said, gesturing to his casts. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Or… they're about me hurting somebody else." Deeks guiltily turned away from his son's gaze and instantly wished he could take back his admission, or at least stand up and run away.

"Why would you dream about hurting people?"

In two quick questions, the kid had managed to cut right to Deeks' biggest issue. He closed his eyes as visions of Isaac swam in front of him, trying to halt a panic attack he knew would frighten Derrick. He concentrated on his breathing, and reached his hand out for the boy. Derrick pulled his chair closer and took the offered hand in his, saying, "I'm sorry, Marty. We don't have to talk about this. It's OK."

Deeks opened his eyes and focused on the warm brown ones of his son, watching him with so much concern and love. He wanted to be there for him. Derrick shouldn't have to be the one supplying him with strength and support. He resolved to push on with the conversation.

"I'm OK… I'm OK," he said as much to himself as to Derrick. He released the boy's hand and took a sip of cool water, giving himself time to figure out how to describe it all. Finally he told him, "Remember the day I left, when we talked about working undercover?" Derrick nodded and Deeks continued. "I think I told you that I hated being with the bad guys, but I got a lot of satisfaction in getting to arrest them, right? Well, one of the reasons I hated being with them is that sometimes I've had to do some bad things, things I'm not proud of, to fit in."

"Kind of like peer pressure?" Derrick asked.

"Yeah, kind of. The bad guys are doing bad things, right? And sometimes if you want to prove that you're a bad guy too so you can get them to trust you, you have to do bad stuff. And on this assignment… I had to hurt someone," Deeks said, his already soft voice fading even more at his disclosure, "And I'm ashamed that I did it, really ashamed." Deeks surprised himself with the amount of detail he'd just shared, and now could do nothing but wait, his heart pounding, for the judgment he deserved. He didn't think he could bear his own son thinking less of him. He was sure it would crush him.

Derrick's expression remained unchanged as he continued to sit calmly beside Deeks. He asked, "Is he OK? The man you hurt?"

Deeks told him, "Physically he is, although he's probably dealing with some emotional repercussions because of it." Deeks knew he was underselling the trauma Isaac had experienced. He knew it from his own experience with Sidorov. But he wouldn't share any more horrific details, trying to save his son from a little of the darkness.

Derrick asked, "Was he a bad guy?"

Deeks cringed as another wave of shame washed over him. "No. At the time I didn't know who he was. I found out later he was an undercover police officer."

Derrick sat for a moment, taking in the information. "Did you have a choice?" he asked. "Could you have gotten out of it and still stopped all those bad men from hurting all those people?

Deeks knew the answer to the question, yet he searched his mind once more for what he or the team might have done differently to avoid torturing Isaac. He wanted to be honest with his son so he took his time to think over the possibilities.

"No," he replied. "I keep thinking about what I could have done differently, or what the team might have done to help me, but I don't think any of us could have changed what happened."

Again Derrick pondered before replying, "Well, then I don't think you should feel responsible." Deeks was struck by the clarity of his son's thought process, and its logic. Could it be that simple?

Before he could consider Derrick's opinion further, the boy asked another pointed question. "Have you apologized to the man?"

The idea of facing Isaac made Deeks' pulse race and his stomach twist. He thought he might lose his lunch and again focused on controlling his breathing. He sipped some more water and admitted, "No, not really."

"Maybe it would make you feel better."

Deeks couldn't imagine going through with a face to face encounter with the man he'd traumatized, and he didn't think allowing Isaac an opportunity to express his anger would do much to alleviate his own feelings of guilt. But it did occur to him that he owed the man more than the frantic apology he'd whispered in his ear on that dark mountainside. He sighed and said, "Maybe you're right, Derrick... How'd you get to be so wise?"

"It just comes naturally," Derrick said, smiling. But again he turned serious, telling Deeks, "Kensi said what you did put all the bad guys in jail. A lot of bad guys, all over the country. She said you were a hero and you saved a lot of innocent people… I wanted to tell you that I'm proud of you, and really that I was already proud of you before this, but anyway of course you stopping bad men from hurting people makes me proud all over again."

Deeks smiled at his son's rambling, and told him, "Thanks, Derrick. That means a lot to me." His mind understood that his son was right and that he'd behaved in the only way possible to survive and bring down the Brothers. He just hoped his heart would catch up a little. Knowing Derrick didn't judge him had removed a heavy weight from his shoulders, and gratitude and love for his sensitive, thoughtful son brought tears to his eyes.

They sat silently together awhile longer. Deeks thought maybe Derrick was finished with his questions, but instead he went into full therapist mode, asking, "Why do you think your subconscious – your dreams - are still focused so much on you hurting this man?"

"Because I keep blaming myself," Deeks explained. Then, knowing that he and Derrick both shared complicated relationships with their fathers, he told him, "Because growing up, my dad always blamed me for everything that went wrong, and I got really good at it."

"I'm sorry you had such a lousy dad," Derrick said.

"Me too," said Deeks.

* * *

_He was back in the desert, standing in the middle of the vast, dry lake bed. He watched as the clown cars approached. He knew each vehicle held men from the Aryan Nation. The cars stopped and once again a seemingly unending number of white supremacists started pouring out, and he was afraid. He felt the presence of people behind him, his team. He looked back and saw Kensi, Sam, Callen, Ehsan, Nicole, Eric, and Nell. He knew they would fight for him and he felt their support. As the shooting started, he dove for cover behind a boulder. He peered off to his right at a small outcropping of rocks and noticed Hetty and Jameson sitting together. He called for them to help. Though the team was badly outnumbered, they remained still._

_During a break in the shooting, he ran over to them. As he got closer, he saw that Jameson was flipping a coin repeatedly. When it landed heads, he said to Deeks, "Brother." When it landed tails, he said, "Traitor." Hetty was playing with what looked like a bunch of dolls. He peered more closely and saw that she held a set of marionettes and was making them all dance. As he studied them even more closely, he realized there was one for each team member, including himself, and a small ripple of fear washed through him._

He woke at daybreak to find Kensi wrapped around his torso. The weight of her arms placed uncomfortable pressure on his ribs, so he gently pushed her off, rousing her from sleep.

"You OK?" she mumbled.

"Yeah," he replied softly, fighting back a groan and wrapping his own arms protectively around his midsection.

"Were you dreaming?" she asked, still not opening her eyes.

"Yup," he said.

With that news, she did slowly open her eyes, assessing him with a concerned expression. "Can you tell me about it?" she asked, pushing her tousled hair out of her face.

He'd Skyped with Nate a few times during the past week since he'd been home, and as he'd expected, Nate had encouraged him to talk about his feelings and experiences, with him and with Kensi and the team. He hated that advice, but he remembered the last time he'd shut himself away from everyone who cared about him, and he understood that moving forward with his loved ones was the only real option.

He sighed and told her, "It was about the team, and Hetty, and Jameson." He related the dream's details.

Kensi sat up and turned toward him, saying, "So you were happy with the team- we had your back. But Hetty not so much. And with Jameson, it was a matter of chance which way he landed."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," he replied. He hadn't found the dream particularly disturbing, especially compared to many others he'd had recently. Sure, the Hetty part was creepy, but he was heartened that his real team had backed him up rather than the Brothers of the Rope who'd appeared with him in a previous version of the same dream. Progress, he thought.

He'd decided that his own instinct to protect people had been the real reason he'd taken a bullet for Jameson, but he'd never been able to make sense of Jameson's last-second decision to save his life. He'd discussed it with Kensi, theorizing that perhaps Jameson knew he was caught and thought the action would buy him goodwill with the judge. Or maybe he had made a real bond with the man that in the end, finally shined through. They had worked together almost like partners, after all. Deeks wanted to believe that Jameson too had reacted on instinct, that maybe he wasn't a cold-blooded killer, and that the hate-filled environments he'd lived in all his life hadn't penetrated all the way through his soul. He didn't think he'd ever know. Kensi had suggested he visit Jameson in jail to get answers and maybe some closure, but he had decided he wasn't that interested in hearing what a murderous racist thought about him.

As he'd considered the Jameson part of the dream, he realized Kensi had also been thinking, but now she appeared hesitant to say what was on her mind. He wanted them to communicate well, knowing it was important to getting better, so he encouraged her, saying, "Kensi it's OK. Just tell me what you're thinking." He pushed the pillows down behind him so he could sit a little more upright, wanting to give her his full focus. The motion aggravated his ribs and his wince brought Kensi to his aid, shushing him and helping him find a more comfortable position.

After the pain had subsided, Deeks looked calmly into her sad face, raising his eyebrows to prompt her to share. After a moment's hesitation, she told him softly, her eyes downcast, "I was thinking back to the night you had to hurt Isaac… When I got to your apartment, you were angry, at all of us. I didn't blame you. In fact, it killed me not to be able to come up with a way to get you out of that situation. I was so angry at Hetty, but I was angry with myself too."

He knew Kensi felt guilty, and that he had been angry at her and everyone else for what he'd been forced to do. But he no longer held that anger, toward the team or her, having realized they had done all they could under very difficult circumstances.

He reached out to lift her chin up so she would meet his gaze and tried to reassure her, saying, "I was angry, at everybody. At the whole world for putting me in that position. Apparently I still am angry at Hetty. But I couldn't think of a single thing that would have worked to stop it from happening without ruining the operation. It's… unsettling… to think about though, because anything could have happened inside that trailer. Dexter might have killed Isaac at any point, and I don't know what would have happened if he had."

Kensi nodded, but he thought she likely still felt guilty. She told him, "Focus on the fact that he didn't die. He didn't die because _you_ saved him with your quick thinking and your bravery."

He took in her words, and thought he might eventually believe them. He replied, "I'm trying to do that, I really am."

"I'm sorry I wasn't a better partner that night. And on the whole op," she told him.

He shook his head, dismissing her apology. She hadn't done anything wrong. "You don't have to be. I don't blame you, for any of it." She reached out to hold his good hand in hers and they sat for a while.

Finally, Kensi took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes, asking hesitantly, "Can I tell you something else I should have told you a long time ago?"

He had no idea what she would say, and was pretty sure he wouldn't want to hear it, but replied in his soft, gravelly voice, "You can tell me anything, Kens."

**. . .**

Kensi shook her head at Deeks' use of her nickname, knowing she didn't deserve it, didn't deserve his easy forgiveness. She told him, "I'm your partner. In all things. And I should have your back no matter what." She hesitated to continue, knowing Deeks might shut down her whole line of discussion, but she thought it was worth a try to finally share with him the thing she was most ashamed of, the action she still judged herself most harshly for. She said in a shaky voice, "I didn't do a great job on this op, but there's another op where I did even worse... When we found you in Sidorov's garage-"

"Kens-"

He tried to stop her, but she had started down this path and she needed to get it all out. "Please let me say this, Deeks," she pleaded quietly.

He looked at her in concern, nodding slightly for her to continue. She plunged ahead, telling him, "I never should have left you there. Again, I couldn't think of an alternative. But you were in so much pain, and you were begging me to untie you, and I, I turned my back on you." Kensi's whole body shook as the vivid memories of Deeks' pained expression and pleading voice, unlike any she'd ever heard from him, leapt to the front of her mind. She continued, saying, "I put the mission over you, Deeks." She wanted to look away but forced herself to hold his gaze, knowing he deserved at least that much. As tears spilled down her face, she finished with, "I'm ashamed of my actions that day, and I'll regret them for the rest of my life."

He pulled her hand to his chest, telling her, "Kensi, it's OK. We weren't even together then. Plus, how many lives were at stake?"

The fact that he'd minimized his value to her because they weren't a couple yet made her feel even worse. She couldn't understand it and rushed out a reply, saying, "Yeah, but I was in love with you. Please tell me the truth - deep down, aren't you angry with me for abandoning you, just like you were mad after Isaac?" She wanted to know. She wanted to give him a chance to express his anger. He deserved to have that chance, and she deserved to have to hear it.

Deeks thought for a moment, and she waited for his condemnation. He told her, "I was never angry about that… I can say I was… disappointed a little, I guess? It felt like a message about where I rated in your world. But again, coming in second to saving hundreds of thousands of people isn't a terrible place to be."

His lack of anger surprised her, but then she realized it was grounded in his lack of self-worth. That he didn't see himself as being worthy of being rescued, that he didn't see himself as being valuable to her even when she had treasured him so, saddened her. He was right that she had put the mission before his needs, but his acceptance of it felt wrong. She told him, "But you wouldn't have left me there."

Again he sat thoughtfully before responding with a sad smile. "No, I don't think I could've. Which is why Hetty would never have let me be the one to go in."

She told him sincerely, "You're a better person than me."

He huffed out a surprised laugh and quickly replied, "No, no. No, Kens, that's a crazy thing to say. Honestly? I'm glad you came because you gave me hope that I might make it out of there alive. And in the end, I'm glad you helped me complete that mission. It lets me feel proud about what we accomplished. I'm glad all that pain wasn't for nothing."

She felt like he was trying to find ways to make her feel better, and hated that he always put her before himself. She didn't think she could change that in this conversation, though, so she settled for assuring him, "You _should_ be proud."

He smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She hesitantly asked, "Can you forgive me?" She didn't think she really deserved his forgiveness, but thought hearing it might bring her a slight sense of closure.

"Aw, Kens," he replied, "I don't think there's anything to forgive, but if it makes you feel better, than yes, I forgive you. And I love you."

Kensi forced herself to calm down, realizing that she had made the conversation more about her than she'd intended. She wanted to put the focus back on his needs. After a few moments, she said, "I love you too... You know what? Both of those times, I thought I might strangle Hetty."

He chuckled. "Yeah, there've been times when I would have paid to see you do that… I love her to death for bringing me onto the team, for protecting me from Internal Affairs, and most of all, for bringing me you." She smiled. "But I keep having to relearn that she'll always put the mission above us, even if she sees us as her family. She knew the moment she heard from Nell about me running into Ripley that she was gonna send me undercover... I guess somebody has to be like that, to be able to do that job. I'm just glad I don't have to do it."

"Agreed, partner," Kensi said. She found Deeks' assessment to be spot on, but wanted to introduce another idea she was sure he hadn't considered, so she added, "But I also think her actions that day showed how much confidence she still has in your abilities. You've still got it, you know that?"

"Yeah, I just don't want to use it ever again," he replied. Kensi thought he was aiming for humor but his expression remained completely serious. She leaned forward tentatively and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, careful not to press into his ribs. She kissed him and he sighed contentedly and she slowly melted into his side, relieved that the conversation had at least landed them in a good place.

After a few moments, he asked, "Wait, you were in love with me back when I kissed you on that hilltop?"

She laughed at his finally catching onto her admission, kissed him and said, "Aw, baby, I was all in long before we were officially all in. And I plan on staying that way for as long as you'll have me."

He hugged her tighter and whispered in a cracking voice, "Till the end of time and back." She couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life any other way.

* * *

**A/N: Call me self-indulgent, but I couldn't help but use this opportunity to make Kensi apologize for her behavior in "Ascent." What can I say? I love Kensi, and I love how happy she makes Deeks, but I hold a grudge.**

**By the way, I chose the name Delilah for Deeks' daughter because I liked that it started with a D, but it also seemed kinda right because Eric Christian Olsen had a dog named Delilah. Is that weird?**


	18. Jesus of Suburbia

**A/N: Thanks for the continued support, everyone. Glad to see the strong feelings on both sides of the Kensi/Ascent question raised in the last chapter. **

* * *

_I'm the son of rage and love_  
_The Jesus of Suburbia..._  
_No one ever died for my_  
_Sins in hell_  
_As far as I can tell_  
_At least the ones that I got away with_  
_And there's nothing wrong with me_  
_This is how I'm supposed to be_  
_In a land of make believe_  
_That don't believe in me_

\- "Jesus of Suburbia," Part I of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

**. . .**

Over the next ten days, Kensi continued to look after Deeks as he recuperated at home. The pain from his broken ribs gradually subsided and his doctor tapered him off the prescription meds. He still hurt, particularly whenever he moved or, god forbid, moved quickly. He told Kensi he preferred it to the fuzzy thinking caused by the heavy-duty medication, but she knew it wasn't easy to go without it.

She drove him to appointments with Emily, his speech language pathologist. She had helped him relearn how to speak and swallow effectively, and his voice had already grown less scratchy sounding and somewhat stronger. Kensi had secretly found his raspy voice quite sexy, but she hadn't shared her observation, afraid that it might upset him.

They'd also attended a few physical therapy appointments to learn exercises to keep his leg and wrist as strong as possible. Kensi hoped more than anything that his broken kneecap would heal well. The doctors had told them he might need as much as six months to regain full strength, that arthritis was a possible side effect, and that activities involving a lot of bending – like surfing – might prove difficult. Hearing that news and seeing the lost expression on his face had nearly brought her to tears. She understood how much he loved spending time out on the water, riding free on the waves. Her fingers were crossed that he'd have a trouble-free recovery. He certainly deserved it.

While Deeks had still been hospitalized, Ehsan had generously brought in a contractor friend and together they'd installed the ramp in the garage and a stairlift so Deeks could get upstairs to sleep in his own bed. He seemed to find it humiliating, making comments about how he wasn't ninety years old, and she looked forward to being able to remove them both once he had fully healed.

She'd cherished the opportunity to be his nurse, and his cheerleader, to repay him for all the support he'd given her as she'd recovered from the helicopter crash. She tried her best to read his moods and give him space when he needed it. She couldn't help but feel hurt when he lashed out in frustration or pain, but she remembered doing the same thing to him and held onto the idea that it would all pass as soon as he felt better.

Deeks became most frustrated around Delilah. The now eighteen-month-old had been especially clingy since he had returned home. She suffered separation anxiety when one of the moms took her out, or when Deeks left for an appointment. She constantly tried to climb up into her daddy's lap. Although she didn't weigh much, her complete inability to sit still for long often made it too painful or tiring for Deeks to try to contain her there.

Kensi knew he hated not being able to give his Little D exactly what she wanted. They tried to make up for it by setting Delilah on a chair right next to him, with Kensi assisting, so he could read to her. And they started letting her into bed with them. Having his daughter snuggled in between the two of them seemed to sooth him like nothing else. And seeing them nestled together with their matching sandy blond curls always brought her comfort and a smile.

They both spent as much time with Derrick as they could without smothering the boy. School was starting up again soon, and Kensi knew Deeks would miss having him around the house every day. Derrick continued to ask Deeks questions about his ordeal, and he continued to try to answer them. She thought it had brought the two of them even closer, and could easily envision what their friendship would look like when Derrick was a grown man. The thought filled her with joy.

Earlier in the summer, a few weeks after he and Deeks had begun volunteering at the shelter, Derrick had told her that he thought he might want to be a teacher. He'd enjoyed tutoring the kids there a great deal. But more recently, he'd shared that maybe he'd become a therapist. She'd told him he'd be incredible at either job, and she'd shared both conversations with Deeks, wanting him to feel pride in the positive influence he'd provided and stressing how Derrick had learned the importance of helping people directly from him.

* * *

Just over a month after the attack, Deeks had the cast on his knee removed. His leg had grown quite weak and given that his ribs and wrist still weren't fully healed, the doctors instructed him to continue using the wheelchair except for brief periods when he could walk short distances with another person's support and the use of a cane in his good hand. He immediately felt less like an invalid and, even if he was still stuck in the damn wheelchair, knowing he could get up out of it any time gave him a new sense of freedom that he relished.

That same day, once they'd finished up at the doctor, they met Sam and Callen for a quick lunch. Sam, whose ribs had been more badly broken than Deeks' but who didn't need a wheelchair, looked much improved. It made Deeks happy to see his friend getting around so well, though he still carried guilt over what Sam had suffered to save him.

After they finished their lighthearted lunch, Callen left to pull his car around and Kensi took a trip to the bathroom while Sam and Deeks remained at the table. Sam quietly told him, "You know, I heard from Hetty that Detective Leibovitz is doing well."

Sam's mention of the man he'd tortured may as well have been a literal slap to Deeks' face. He searched his friend's eyes, trying to understand why he'd felt the need to bring up such a hurtful subject.

Sam explained, telling him, "I'm just saying, Deeks, maybe it would be good for you to meet with him. He might not blame you nearly as much as you blame yourself. He might surprise you."

Deeks recoiled at the image of Isaac's pained face that had leapt into his mind. He told Sam, "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he'd spit in my face and curse me out. Either way, I'm not sure it would really change how I feel about what happened."

"Maybe not," Sam said. "But what if it did? Don't you want to stop imagining the worst about how he feels? We weren't in that room with you, but we saw everything that happened, Deeks." Deeks looked down in shame at the reminder that his team had witnessed his misdeeds.

"Listen man," Sam told his friend, "None of us think you did anything wrong. You made a series of incredibly difficult decisions that all led to saving a man's life. All I'm saying is give yourself a chance to find a little closure. Give yourself a chance to find some forgiveness from Isaac. Maybe that'll help you forgive yourself."

Sam reached his hand out and wrapped it around Deeks' head, making him look up at him. Deeks took in the sincerity in his friend's words and expression, but couldn't imagine finding the courage to go through with his suggestion. He could only nod as Kensi awkwardly rejoined them.

He was quiet the rest of the day, pondering the idea and knowing he should do it, if only so he could follow through on Derrick's earlier recommendation to apologize to the man he'd hurt. The next morning, he asked Kensi if she could arrange a meeting.

* * *

It was a few days later at the end of August and Deeks felt every degree of the hot, dry afternoon with its Santa Ana winds blowing in from the distant desert. Kensi was driving him to the Venice Beach Pier to meet with the LAPD detective he had tortured at the start of his assignment. He'd barely slept the night before, waking every few hours with another nightmare about that night.

He was more nervous than he had been at the start of the assignment. Every few minutes, he opened his mouth to ask Kensi to turn around, but then stopped himself, knowing she'd only offer more encouraging words and continue driving. He didn't know how he'd be able to face the man, and thought he might throw up.

He knew Isaac deserved the chance to release any pent-up anger he held toward him, and he mentally prepared to have his own innate cruelty thrown in his face. He just hoped the weight of it all wouldn't crush him. He cursed Sam under his breath for instigating this little escapade, and distracted himself by plotting revenge.

Kensi parked and wheeled him out onto the pier. The sunshine bounced a thousand bright white reflections off the water all the way to the horizon. They stopped to look out on a few surfers enjoying the warm waves. He felt a pang of envy, wishing he could be out there and hoping someday he would be again. After a few minutes, Kensi seemed to sense his wistfulness and kept moving out to the end of the pier, well beyond the breaking waves.

They stopped next to a bench where she sat, and they waited. Deeks closed his eyes and listened to the waves and the wind. He took a series of deep breaths, soaking in the salty air and focusing his attention on the familiar sounds of the crying gulls. After a few minutes he felt Kensi's hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see her standing, looking back down the pier at an approaching figure, a stocky man with long, dark hair that curled in front of his face in the wind.

Deeks struggled up out of his chair, wanting to face the man on his own two feet. As Isaac arrived at the end of the pier, he stopped in front of them with a serious expression on his face. Deeks had no idea what to say and was grateful when Kensi took the lead and introduced herself.

His eyes widened in surprise when Isaac then extended his hand toward him, introducing himself and saying, "Detective Deeks, it's good to see you." Deeks didn't know what to make of the greeting but extended his hand to shake Isaac's.

Kensi reached out to skim her hand down Deeks' arm, asking him if he wanted her to stay. He shook his head and she told them both that she'd be nearby, moving just down the pier out of earshot but close enough to come running if Deeks needed her.

He'd relaxed slightly as she'd stepped away, happy that she might not witness any verbal barrages Isaac might unleash. Yet he also appreciated that she remained close enough to provide him with silent support. Her refusal to judge him and her unwavering love gave him the slightest whisper of hope that this conversation wouldn't prove as painful as he expected.

Isaac pulled Deeks from his thoughts by asking, "Should we sit?"

Deeks nodded and sat back down in his wheelchair, still not having said a single word to the man he'd hurt so badly. He looked Isaac over and was relieved to see that he seemed fit. He noticed a few scars from the burns Dexter had inflicted, but otherwise found no physical signs of what Isaac had endured.

Before he could figure out what to say, Isaac asked him, "How are you doing?"

Exhaling a short, surprised laugh, Deeks replied, "Me? I'm fine. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who should be asking you that question."

"I'm good, you know?" said Isaac.

"You are?" Deeks asked, confused over the man's lack of apparent anger.

"Yeah." Deeks nodded in acknowledgment but then vivid images of Isaac tied to the chair, begging for his life, jumped into his mind and he rushed out an apology, telling him, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's OK, Detective." Deeks didn't understand Isaac's response, but it settled his nerves slightly. He told him, "Please call me Deeks, or Marty."

"It's OK, Marty. I understand why you did what you did. I don't blame you. And I'm really glad that you took them all down. I sleep a lot better at night because of that, so thanks."

Deeks couldn't understand Isaac's mindset, he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that the man had just thanked him. He continued to remember back to the dark trailer, and reiterated, "I'm sorry. I couldn't think of any way to get you out of there. My team was nearby but I didn't have comms and I just couldn't come up with a better option."

He stopped as his stomach heaved. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he said, struggling to stand and turn to the railing, and then vomiting over the side. The movement caused his knee and sore ribs to complain, and he stayed clutching the railing, his eyes tightly closed as the nausea and pain slowly subsided. He felt a warm hand on the back of his neck and thought Kensi had returned, but then realized it was Isaac.

"It's OK, Marty. You're OK. Here, have some water." Isaac pulled the bottle out from the side pocket of Deeks' wheelchair and he took a long drink, rinsing out his mouth and then turning to sit back down, exhausted by the short conversation.

As Deeks sat quietly in his chair waiting for his breathing to return to normal and his stomach to settle, Isaac told him, "You saved my life that night... You do know that, right?"

Deeks gazed into Isaac's friendly brown eyes to try to gauge the truth behind his words. He asked, "Do you really see it that way?"

Isaac smiled and told him, "Yeah, man, I do. If you hadn't been there, that crazy son of a bitch would have carved me up with his hunting knife and they'd have fed me to the fishes. If you'd broken cover, then he'd probably have carved both of us up, plus the whole case would've been blown." He shuddered and added, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Marty. Please don't blame yourself. I don't blame you, OK?"

Deeks nodded gratefully, feeling lighter than he had since his fateful encounter with Ripley. The relief he felt at Isaac's words brought tears to his eyes, and he turned and blinked them away. "OK," he said. "Thank you for saying that, Isaac, and for coming today."

"I almost didn't," he said in a quiet voice. "I didn't want to relive that night, you know?"

Deeks nodded and said, "Of course I know." Visions of Isaac in the trailer returned, but this time he saw them more objectively and he told him, "You were brave."

Isaac laughed bitterly and said, "I wouldn't say that. I was scared shitless."

Deeks understood exactly how Isaac had felt and told him, "Yeah, of course. But you kept to your cover story for as long as you could. And when it seemed clear that you weren't gonna get out of there alive, you gave us a different cover story, Homeland Security, right?" Deeks looked over to see Isaac looking down and decided the least he could do was share part of his own past trauma. "Listen Isaac, I've been where you were that night. It was one of the worst things that's ever happened to me. You should feel proud of how you handled yourself."

Isaac looked up at him behind long eyelashes and Deeks looked back, holding his gaze, determined to convey the truth of his words.

"You were tortured?" Isaac asked him. Deeks nodded, hoping Isaac wouldn't prod for details but willing to share whatever he could to help. Isaac asked, "How did you ever manage to go back to work?"

Deeks thought back to how long he'd suffered alone before getting help and told him, "It took a while. I had support but I didn't accept it at first. That was not smart and it just made things worse. Talking to people was key, as horrible as it felt at the time... Do you have people to talk to?"

Isaac shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yeah, I guess. I'm just not sure they're the right people to hear that particular story."

Deeks nodded in understanding. He thought back to everything Isaac had revealed that night and asked, "Do you really have a wife and children like you said?"

"No, I'm single. My sister lives in Hollywood and my folks are down in San Diego."

The man's ability to tell a convincing lie impressed him, but instead of offering more compliments, Deeks focused on how he could help and replied, "I get it." He couldn't believe the conversation had led to this point, but offered, "Well, you probably don't want anything more to do with me, and I completely understand that, but if you ever need somebody to talk to, I'd be honored to help."

"Thanks, man," Isaac said.

They sat together in the sun for a long while. Deeks found out more about Isaac's career and work with the Gang and Narcotics Division, a big achievement for someone his age. He also learned more about how his own cover had been blown when the ghost skins inside LAPD had found out about Isaac. The good news was that some of the Brothers who'd been arrested had given up their own men in blue, and at least some of those ghost skins had been arrested too. Sadly, more remained, yet to be uncovered, though Isaac and others had plans to root out as many as they could.

Finally Isaac stood to leave, and Deeks stood with him. He told Isaac in a voice thick with emotion, "Thanks for coming today. It means more than I can say."

Isaac reached out and shook his hand, then pulled him in for a hug. "No, man, thank you," he said.

Deeks stood staring as Isaac walked back down the pier, trying to hold onto the sense of absolution he had been gifted.

* * *

It was the weekend after school had started back up, and Derrick sat eating lunch with Kensi and Marty. Over the last few weeks, it had become more and more apparent that his adoptive father would physically recover from his injuries and his traumatic assignment. Better yet, he felt pretty sure that Marty would never again attempt to take on a dangerous job with his old team. He couldn't help but dwell on all the other times Marty must have put his life in danger to do his job, and he shuddered to think about how he might have never met him or Kensi, given the risks they had apparently taken when they worked at NCIS.

Marty appeared to pick up on his unease, and asked, "Hey Big D, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, not wanting to bring down the group's relatively upbeat mood.

"You know what a very wise person said to me recently?" Marty asked.

"What?" Derrick asked, squinting in suspicion and pretty sure he wouldn't like the response.

"He said that talking about my feelings would help me feel better," Marty said with a small smile. Derrick mock glared at him, and Marty added, "He was right. He's a very smart guy."

Derrick shook his head, knowing he'd been bested, and told Kensi and Marty, "I was just thinking about how dangerous your jobs were, and how easily one or both of you might've been killed before we ever even had a chance to meet."

Kensi and Marty looked at each other, appearing to silently communicate about how to respond to his concern. Kensi reached out to briefly place her hand on his cheek, reassuring him, "We had dangerous jobs, that's true, Derrick, but you can't think about all the bad things that might've happened, or even all the bad things that did happen. You have to focus on all the good things that came together so we could be there for you when your mom was killed, and so we could become the family we are now."

He nodded and Marty added, "Plus, it's not like every assignment we had was all that dangerous. Once we even played husband and wife in a fancy suburb." He turned to Kensi, smiling and saying, "Even then, before we were together together, she was totally into me."

Derrick did not like the direction this conversation was heading, and interjected, telling them, "Ewww! Please stop. I don't wanna hear any details about that!"

Kensi tried to make him feel better, laughing and telling him, "No, Derrick, we were on our best, most professional behavior, I swear!" She turned to Marty, who looked at her with amusement in his sparkling eyes and an eyebrow raised as if challenging her to contradict him. She admitted, "OK, maybe I was hoping you'd make a move, but-"

"Seriously, please stop!" Derrick whined.

Marty and Kensi laughed together and Kensi apparently took pity on him, changing the subject slightly. She told him, "There were other fun assignments. Marty was always very committed to fully bringing his undercover characters to life. He had this one character named Sven. I didn't get to work with him, but I heard your Uncle Sam talk about him."

Marty continued the explanation, telling him in a weird accent, "Sven vas an interior designer. He sought zat color vas important ven choosing ze elements of von's design, ya?"

"Really?" Derrick asked, feeling much better at the idea that not every assignment had been filled with terror.

"Ya," Marty replied. "I sink you should ask your Uncle Zam about ze color. Tell him, in fact, zat he can't be afraid of ze color."

Derrick made a mental note to do just as "Sven" had told him, figuring to get a fun reaction out of his uncle.

Kensi prompted Deeks with a smile, "Tell him about Matthew Dunkler."

Marty grinned, watching as Kensi got up and rifled through a kitchen drawer. He told Derrick, "Matthew Dunkler was a railroad inspector who took his job very seriously. He was a bit, hmm, what would you say, Kens? Attentive to detail? Caring about a job well done? Maybe a bit sensitive?"

Kensi pulled a pair of Roberta's reading glasses out of the drawer and grabbed a brush from her bag, wetting it under the sink. She walked over to Marty, who first leaned away, laughing, before allowing her to fiddle with his appearance. She replied to his question, saying, "He was more than sensitive. I think 'delicate' would be the right word."

When she'd finished wetting down – and parting – his long hair, and had added the glasses, Marty looked over at Derrick, trying to keep his expression serious although Derrick could see the corners of his mouth trying to turn up in a smile.

Marty said to him in an odd, nasally voice, "You see, Mr. Mosley, it's just, it's just, very, very important that we examine all of the relevant XP-52 and NS-354 forms and that we complete our XZ-78 reports in triplicate. We must follow all procedures and guidelines to the letter." He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, and looked at the food on the table with a suddenly alarmed expression, saying, "Is that basil on that sandwich? Oh, no, mustn't have basil. Allergies. Allergies to basil will cause hives and eczema, and, and an increase in… mucus production."

Derrick was amazed at Marty's transformation, and loved the silliness of his Matthew Dunkler character. He laughed along with Kensi. It was as if a weight were being lifted from his shoulders as he watched these two people he loved so much smiling and laughing and just being goofy. It gave him confidence that Marty would do more than physically heal. That he would heal emotionally too, and return to the man who had taught him the joy in the silly side of life.

* * *

**A/N: I had this story written before I ever started posting. Up until last night, the paragraph about the remaining ghost skins at LAPD ended with, "Sadly, there'd likely always be more." While I'm certainly not naive enough to believe the problem will be solved quickly, the events of the past couple of weeks have made me resolve to demand more and to be stubbornly optimistic about the possibilities, so I shifted the sentence to give it a slightly more hopeful tone.**

**I know that given the current state of the world, there's no end of people and charities in need. It seemed an appropriate time to repeat that the Anti-Defamation League or ADL, which I've used as a super helpful resource for this story, does great work exposing extremism and delivering anti-bias education. Check them out if you're looking for a good charity to support.**

**One more shout-out to ejzah for her assistance with details on Deeks' speech language pathologist interactions. And one final chapter (plus epilogue) to go.**


	19. When It's Time

_My time ticks around you_  
_But then I need your voice_  
_As a key to unlock all_  
_The love that's trapped in me…_  
_We are all born in a world of doubt_  
_But there's no doubt_  
_I figured out I love you_  
_I feel lonely for_  
_All the losers that will never_  
_Take the time to say_  
_What's really on their mind instead_  
_They just hide away_  
_Yet they'll never have_  
_Someone like you to guide them_  
_And help along the way_

\- "When It's Time," Green Day

**. . .**

_Deeks was searching in the dark. He held up the small flashlight on his phone as he hunted through room after room of his house. "Where are you?" he called out. _

_Derrick and then Kensi appeared before him with lights of their own and Derrick asked, "Who are you looking for?" _

_Deeks replied, "Max. He was here awhile ago but now I can't find him."_

_Kensi took his hand, assuring him, "Don't worry, we'll help you look." They continued their search until he woke._

Since his meeting with Isaac, Deeks' vivid dreams had continued, but their frequency and intensity had decreased significantly. Now, a few weeks later, he awoke to hear his wife downstairs babbling to his daughter, and he let that wonderful sound distract him from reflecting on his latest dream's meaning. He knew his son had likely already left for school, and he took a few minutes to savor the fact that he didn't feel any physical pain. He'd had the cast on his wrist removed the week before, and though he still struggled to walk and needed regular physical therapy for the foreseeable future, he was finally feeling more like his old self.

* * *

Later in the day, Kensi put Delilah down for a nap and took a break to join her husband out on the patio's outdoor sofa where he sat reading in the sun. She sat down beside him and leaned back, enjoying the warmth on her skin. Eventually she turned to him and asked, "What did you dream about last night?" It had become her regular question, and a successful method to get him to share more about his experiences and worries.

With a small sigh, he told her, "The only dream I remember was you and Derrick helping me search for Max."

Seeing Deeks' nightmares gradually decrease in frequency had buoyed Kensi's spirits and, she thought, his as well. She hadn't been woken in the middle of the night to try to soothe him back to sleep since the night before he'd met with Isaac. His dreams continued to relate to his experiences on the operation, but she took their declining intensity as a sign that he'd managed to come to terms with much of what had happened. She wondered why this morning his subconscious had looped back to one of the op's earlier challenges - Max Gentry's failure to appear - which had forced Deeks to take on all the unsavory parts of his assignment without the emotional buffer Max might have provided.

"That's interesting," she commented.

"Yeah."

She inwardly sighed at his resistance to delving into the meaning behind his dream, and she nudged him, asking, "What do you think it means?"

After a moment's thought, he replied, "I'm not sure... I never really figured out why Max was a no-show on the assignment. I guess it's the one part of the op I'm still trying to make sense of."

Kensi had given the subject of Max Gentry a lot of thought, not only over the course of Deeks' recent assignment, but ever since she'd first encountered him during their early days as partners. She had at least one possible explanation, but she wanted to see if she could help him figure it out for himself. She asked, "Do you have any theories?"

"Not really," he replied. "Do you?"

She smiled at him, reaching out to brush the long hair out of his hesitant blue eyes. She told him, "I do." She saw him raise his eyebrows in surprise and wait for her to reveal her thoughts. She mentally crossed her fingers that he'd let her explain without growing angry or shutting her down, and that he just might hear her words and believe them, and believe in himself. She wanted so badly for him to see himself like she did, as the best person she knew. She wanted him to make peace with his past actions, but wasn't sure if it would ever happen. Still, she refused to give up trying to help him get there.

**. . .**

Deeks did not want to talk about Max. He'd largely acquiesced to Kensi's daily questions about his dreams, trying to heed Nate's advice to open up about his thoughts and feelings. The advice had helped and he had to acknowledge that it had carried him further in his recovery than he'd had any reason to expect in such a short time. Yet every time he and Kensi began a discussion about his dreams, he couldn't help but picture himself lying on a couch, with Kensi as Sigmund Freud, complete with Austrian accent and beard. It always made him inwardly smile right before he decided the whole effort was intrusive and unnecessary. Still, he almost always humored her, unable to resist her sincere and loving efforts to help. So he braced himself to talk about his missing alter ego, curious to hear Kensi's theory but certain it wouldn't change anything.

Kensi began, saying, "You always saw Max as a part of your dad that you inherited, right?"

"Yeah," he said, eyes downcast as familiar feelings of shame washed through him at the idea that he shared such dark DNA, and at all the contemptible things it had led him to do.

"But wouldn't you say that you _learned_ about your dad's dark side through your childhood experiences?"

"Of course," he replied, frowning in confusion and wondering where Kensi was going with her questions. They'd never discussed Max in much detail before. He'd always fought to keep her as far away from him as he could, and he'd certainly never wanted to dissect him like this.

"Here's the thing," she told him, "I don't think you literally inherited your dad's dark side, or Max for that matter. I think you learned about that dark side by first-hand observation and… horrible experiences. I don't think your DNA programmed you to ever do anything to hurt people."

"So I just learned how to hurt them? That doesn't really make me feel any better about myself, Kens," he told her.

"I think it makes a difference," she said in an even voice, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "If it's part of your DNA, you can't really change it. But if it's something you learned, I think it's also something you can unlearn. And I think you've basically unlearned Max – and unlearned your father."

He pondered her words, unsure if he understood her theory but willing to hear her out. He looked up at her with a questioning look and waited for her to elaborate.

"Your dad," she continued, "he hurt you and your mom because it made him feel powerful, because it gave him a sense of control over his life. It kills me that he did that and sometimes I wish he wasn't dead so I could tell him what I think of him."

Deeks' lips quirked upward at the idea of Kensi taking on his father. He would definitely pay to see that.

Kensi continued, "When you were… trying to get Isaac to talk, was there any part of you, no matter how tiny, that felt even a glimmer of a fraction of pleasure in having that power over him?"

Deeks' head reeled at the idea that he might have enjoyed hurting Isaac. He shook his head and proclaimed decisively, "No, Kens. Absolutely not… I felt nothing but revulsion. I would have given anything to have figured out a way to make it stop. Anything."

"See," she replied, "That's the difference between you and Max. Between you and your father. They would have enjoyed it, right? But I don't think they're inside you anymore… You told me once that some days it was too easy to be Max. But now, it's not even possible for you to be him, no matter how hard you try." She squeezed his hand and added, "Don't you see that whatever piece of your father you once carried, whatever piece of him Max represented, it's gone? They're both gone... They no longer exist, Deeks."

As Kensi's words sunk in, tears sprang into his eyes. He stared at her, searching her face for the truth behind her words, desperately wanting them to be right but unable to allow himself to accept them. Kensi's radical theory about Max confused him. When Max had failed to arrive to help him handle his undercover assignment with the Brothers of the Rope, Deeks had chalked it up to his alter ego being an asshole who didn't care about anybody, including Deeks. He'd thought it was just his bad luck, and maybe a sign that he lacked the ability to do his old law enforcement job anymore. He considered Max such an ingrained part of him that he'd never have imagined it possible he could evaporate for good.

Regardless of the reasons for Max's absence, he knew he was still capable of carrying out ugly, violent acts, and he reminded Kensi, "But I've hurt so many people."

She leaned closer to him, her hands briefly cupping his jaw and wiping away a few stray tears before returning to hold his hand. "Deeks, I know you still blame yourself for things in your past. For Afghanistan, for Boyle. But I don't think you're the same person even from the one I met in that MMA gym. You've always fought against your father's legacy, you've always hated Max." She paused and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I think you won that fight, baby. You've spent your _entire_ life protecting people. The things you blame yourself for doing? You did them all because you were trying to protect people. You've always been driven by that goal, you've always tried to do good. I think that's really what you took away from your experiences with your father, Deeks. That you wanted to be his opposite, that you wanted to do good. And I think all the good work that you've done over a lifetime of protecting people, and all the love that you've shared with me and the kids and with so many people, I think it all combined to destroy Max, and to pound to dust any last remaining bits of your father. It's OK to let them go, Deeks... You're done with them, baby."

With Kensi's heartfelt words, Deeks' tears unleashed and he reached out to pull her into a hug and he clung to her. He questioned her theory, but his love and gratitude for her overwhelmed him. That she had chosen him, that she loved him, would never cease to amaze him. That love alone was almost enough to convince him that he must have done something right in life. He wanted to tell her all that and more, but his surging emotions only allowed him to hang onto her and whisper in her ear, "I love you so much."

She hugged him tightly and told him, "I love you too, baby." They sat like that for several minutes while Deeks got his emotions under control. Eventually he pulled back and told her, "Thank you for having so much faith in me. Your theory is beautiful. I'd really like to believe it… but I'll have to think about it."

"You do that," she replied. "In the meantime, consider this… You trust me, right?"

"With everything," he assured her without hesitation.

"Do you think I'm a good judge of character?"

"Yes," he told her, knowing that her keen ability to assess suspects and witnesses had been a key element of their success in the field.

"Well then trust my judgment on this," she told him in her serious partner tone. "Don't second guess it. Believe me when I say that you are the best, most loving, person I've ever known. I've seen you fight your demons. I hope I've helped you fight them. And Deeks, I think you won that fight a long time ago and you don't even realize it."

The idea moved him, and Kensi's faith in him took his breath away. He silently vowed to try to give himself the benefit of the doubt for once and see if he couldn't embrace the idea that Max was truly dead and gone, and that he was free.

* * *

_He was in a restaurant having breakfast with his extended family. The kids and the whole team were there, laughing and joking. He had a waffle the size of a large pizza in front of him and he smiled as Kensi continued to reach over and steal large chunks. Then he remembered he was supposed to be on guard for the bad guys, and to feel afraid. He glanced around, searching the restaurant for monsters. He saw a large, furry green creature at the counter and he tensed, reaching for his weapon, until he noticed it laughing and tickling the other green creature that sat next to it. Then he noticed a purple creature at a table in the back. He saw its scales and the fire it breathed, but relaxed when he realized it was using its fire breath to light the birthday candles on a cake for the other purple creatures at the same table. _

_He turned back to his own table and watched his family enjoying each other's company and wondered if it was OK to join them. Kensi apparently read his mind and told him, "Hey, laughing's good." _

_He replied, saying, "Yeah, OK."_

One Saturday morning a few weeks after his talk with Kensi, Callen picked him up, having texted him the night before about taking him out for breakfast. He mysteriously refused to reveal the destination, but Deeks went along, happy to be out and about under his own power, albeit with the aid of a cane.

As Callen drove down the 405 and then turned off onto the Harbor Freeway heading south, Deeks began to grow anxious. "We're not eating breakfast at any of the Brothers' seedy bars, are we?" he asked.

"Nope," Callen replied. "We are heading to San Pedro, but I promise we're not going to Walker's."

Deeks sat back and put his trust in his friend even as the freeway ended and they seemed to be heading straight for the bar at the tip of the city where the operation had begun. As they drove down Gaffey Street, with its unending sea of fast food restaurants, and up through the Point Fermin neighborhood that was home to Walker's, Deeks' stomach began to lurch and his heart started to pound.

As they crested the highest point on the road before it spilled down into the bluff-top park by the sea where Walker's sat, Callen turned off the street and into the parking lot of the Korean Friendship Bell. The massive bronze bell, housed in a beautiful traditional open-air pavilion with animals carved into its brightly painted wood, sat on a promontory with a panoramic view over the ocean and Catalina Island to the south and the port to the east. The large grassy spaces surrounding it were filled with families picnicking and flying kites. Deeks had spent more than a few afternoons here playing basketball on the court that he was convinced had the prettiest view of any basketball court in the world.

Callen parked and got out of the car, and Deeks followed. They slowly strolled over to a bench near the basketball court that provided a view over the whole setting. Deeks didn't understand why they were here, and didn't care for the memories stirred up by the view down into the park below them, or out to the port where he'd encountered so much violence.

"Why are we here, Callen?" he asked, finally losing patience.

"I thought we'd get some breakfast back down at the Omelette & Waffle Shop, but before we did, I wanted to show you this place."

"I've been here before. It's beautiful here."

"Yeah, it is."

Deeks really wanted to end this little game of Callen's and pressed for more information, saying with an exasperated sigh, "Something tells me we're here for more than just a pretty view?"

"You remember when we gave you that long list of places the hate groups had targeted all over the country?" Callen asked.

"Yeah," he replied, remembering the incredible array of groups and locations that would have been targeted with rocket and grenade launchers had his operation failed.

Callen told him, "This place was on the Brothers' list." Oh. Now Deeks understood. The idea of a place of such peace and beauty being disrupted by savage violence made him sick to his stomach. Callen elaborated, telling him, "On August first, there was a festival to celebrate Korean-American friendship. There were almost a thousand people here."

The news hit Deeks hard. It brought Johnson's evil plan to life in a way that hearing target lists hadn't, and it made the fact that they'd quashed that plan more tangible than he'd previously understood it.

Callen explained, "Sometimes when we finish a big case, I go back to where it all happened. And I just sit there and I watch. A guy walking his dog," he gestured toward a man with his pit bull puppy, "or a couple holding hands," he pointed out two lovebirds enjoying the view. "Kids playing around," he pointed to two children trying to launch their kite into the wind blowing up from the bluffs below. "I think about all the violence, and chaos, that could have been there just a few weeks before, and now it's just life. And I know that we – you, in this case – gave them that life."

Deeks took in the view again, seeing it from Callen's perspective, and he was moved. He savored each vignette in front of him – the pets, the children laughing, the young men playing hoops, the older people enjoying the architecture, the couple speaking quietly, and he relished in the idea that he'd been a part of keeping them - or people just like them, anyway – safe. Thoughts of torturing Isaac, of being stabbed, and shot, and nearly killed, fell away like the view of the port below him, overtaken by the knowledge that he'd helped so many people and the pride of a job well done. He smiled.

* * *

Deeks' strength – physical, mental and emotional - continued to improve as September wore on. He got in touch with his law firm to talk about when he might be ready to start back up, and even thought he might soon have enough energy to reclaim his child care duties, easily the more grueling of his two jobs.

He'd continued to ponder Kensi's theory about Max's disappearance. He wanted to believe it was true. Could he really be free of Max, and his father for that matter? He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for his perceived past misdeeds. But he resolved to try to channel Kensi's belief in him whenever he caught himself engaging in self-doubt. Maybe it would lead him to finally believing in himself.

Whether Max – and his father – were truly gone from inside him, he didn't think he could be certain. But he was sure that he could never willingly hurt anyone again, and that he'd spend the rest of his life continuing to try to help people. With a sense of contentment, he looked forward to passing whatever time he had left working far away from the violence that had filled so much of his life.

_It was dark and he looked around to find himself in a creepy cemetery. The two open graves before him both held closed caskets. He peered down at them, unsure if he was supposed to feel grief, but instead experiencing a great sense of serenity. Kensi came up beside him and handed him a shovel, and then she smiled broadly, which he found odd. She held a second shovel, and together they scooped dirt over the caskets until they were completely covered. Still smiling, she hugged him and kissed his cheek and he finally looked at the two headstones. They were unmarked but he now realized that one held his alter ego and the other his father, and as he hugged Kensi back, a sense of all-encompassing peace washed through him._

* * *

**A/N: I debated over just how far to push Deeks in coming to accept Kensi's theory. My goal when I started writing this story was to allow him to find peace with his past, as represented by Max. I did my best to make that a realistic journey, but I may have pushed things a bit too far with this ending. I just couldn't help but want to make Deeks happy. ****I was gratified along the way at those commenters who guessed at the reasons for his absence, and ****I'm sorry to those disappointed that Max never appeared. Either way, I'd love to hear what you all think.**

**And you see, I really did keep my Chapter 1 promise to leave him mostly better off than I found him. :-)**

**Credit to Eric Christian Olsen and Babar Peerzada for some of Callen's words to Deeks. I borrowed them from Callen's conversation with Hetty at the end of "Mother." **

**And if you're ever in San Pedro, the Omelette & Waffle Shop is the best breakfast spot in a town filled with outstanding breakfast spots.**

**Epilogue to follow.**


	20. Wake Me Up When September Ends

_Summer has come and passed  
__The innocent can never last  
__Wake me up when September ends  
_

_Like my father's come to pass  
__Seven years has gone so fast  
__Wake me up when September ends  
_

_Here comes the rain again  
__Falling from the stars  
__Drenched in my pain again  
__Becoming who we are  
_

_As my memory rests  
__But never forgets what I lost  
__Wake me up when September ends…  
_

_Ring out the bells again  
__Like we did when Spring began  
__Wake me up when September ends_

\- "Wake Me Up When September Ends," Green Day

**. . .**

Early on a mid-October Saturday morning, a series of messy kisses woke Deeks from a dreamless sleep. He opened one eye to see his daughter's giggling face as she continued to plant kisses all over his head. He wrapped her up in his arms, wishing he could keep her there with him forever. He didn't know how he'd ever survive her someday leaving for college. Sure, that trauma wouldn't happen for quite some time, but he already realized how quickly time was passing and he tried to cherish every moment with both her and Derrick. "Good morning, DeeDee," he told her, smacking a series of loud kisses all over her own head, eliciting more giggles from the little girl.

Beside him Kensi stirred, turning toward them as she stretched. She opened her eyes and smiled at Deeks, leaning down to kiss her daughter and then back up to kiss her husband. "Morning," she whispered.

"Morning, sunshine," he replied with a crooked smile.

As Deeks continued to cuddle with Delilah, Kensi asked, "What did you dream about last night?"

Even as his nightmares had grown few and far between, she'd continued to ask him the same question each morning. Deeks speculated that she had suffered her own trauma worrying over him, and that she still continued to worry unnecessarily. He'd taken to making up the most outrageous and silly answers to her question, seeing if he could one-up himself each time, always going at least far enough to draw a smile if not an outright laugh. But in the end, he always told her the truth, letting her know if he remembered anything important from the night before.

This morning he kept his answer short but honest, certain that Delilah wouldn't allow him time to spin any tall tales. "Nothing," he told her. "I mean, nothing I remember, anyway."

They both drew comfort from his answer. He pulled Kensi to him and kissed her, softly at first, but then with more passion. It wasn't much longer before Delilah began to fidget between them, fighting for their attention. When they both turned to kiss her, her face looked so happy that Deeks took a moment to lean away slightly to better take in her and her mother together, to soak in double the sunshine.

* * *

He and Derrick spent the morning volunteering at the shelter. Deeks had been reluctant, or maybe terrified was a better word, to bring Derrick back to the same place where they'd encountered Ripley, the white supremacist who had ignited the past four months of turmoil. It wasn't until Hetty informed him that Ripley had been picked up on drug charges in Nevada that he felt confident enough to return to Skid Row with his son. Today Derrick had read stories to a group of younger children while he'd reviewed some legal documents with the shelter's manager.

They finished their work and then made their way slowly over to Spring Street for tacos. Deeks had been making good progress rehabbing his knee. He still carried a cane but relied on it less and less. His only concern remained his ability to surf, and he was hopeful that he'd get back out on the waves in the next few months, even if he needed to wear a brace to do it. In the meantime, Derrick had offered to go stand-up paddleboarding with him. He knew the boy wasn't overly fond of the ocean, which made his offer all the kinder. Deeks planned to take him out on the Long Beach canals instead, thinking maybe Derrick would enjoy the sport more under smoother conditions.

They arrived at the beautiful old Arcade Building with its arched, skylit passageway between Spring and Broadway, and entered Guisado's, placing their orders at the counter and snagging one of the restaurant's few tables.

While they waited for their food, Deeks asked, "How did it go with the reading today?"

"It was good. They were a sweet bunch of kids," Derrick replied.

Deeks had watched the last part of Derrick's storytelling from the back of the room, and Derrick's animated recounting, using different voices for the different characters, had impressed him and had easily held the children's attention. But even more notable had been the way he'd interacted with them individually once the session broke up, moving from child to child to let each one know that he cared about them. It had made his heart sing with pride. He told him, "You're really good with them, you know? Patient and kind and caring... I'm so proud of you, Derrick."

Derrick looked embarrassed by the praise, glancing around uncomfortably to see if his food was on its way yet. He sighed and glanced out the window before looking at Deeks and replying, "Thanks, Marty. I really like helping them. I just wish I could do more."

Deeks understood the sentiment. Everything on Skid Row was overwhelming – the size, the smells, the sounds, the congestion, and most of all the vast quantity of people in need. He didn't want Derrick to feel discouraged by it all. "Don't discount your contributions," he told him. "We can each only do what we can do, but every bit helps. You don't know what a huge difference a little love and compassion can make in someone's life."

Derrick nodded, a serious expression on his face, and told Deeks, "I think I do." Derrick's words resounded in his heart and he smiled at his son but said no more, careful to avoid pushing the conversation into too mushy a place, not wanting to embarrass the boy further. Derrick would kill him if he got remotely teary-eyed at their favorite lunch spot. He flashed back to the initial reason he'd wanted to bring him down here, to help Derrick see that despite all the pain he'd suffered, he was still lucky to be loved and safe. Today, he remarked to himself that he was the lucky one.

With perfect timing, the tacos arrived and they both smiled and dug into their respective selections. Deeks changed the subject slightly, asking, "What were you reading today?"

Derrick replied, "For the older kids, _Mercy Watson_. It's about a pig who likes buttered toast and gets into trouble."

"Hey that sounds like me!" Deeks joked.

Derrick laughed, "Yeah, I guess it does." He grew thoughtful once more and then added, "You know, one of the books I read to the younger kids did make me think of you."

"Oh, yeah?" Deeks asked. "Which one?"

"_Ferdinand the Bull_," he replied.

Deeks smiled, saying, "I remember that from when I was little. I'm glad it's still around." He chewed his taco, thinking back to the title character, who only wanted to sit in the shade and smell the flowers even when men came and tried to make him fight in the bullring. "I remember wanting to be Ferdinand… and wishing my dad was more like him."

"Well I think maybe you are him now," Derrick told him. "You're done with fighting, right?"

Deeks couldn't believe how Derrick could take a children's book and turn it into an existential discussion. It was a definite talent of his. He thought about his future plans, none of which involved new assignments from law enforcement. And he thought about Max Gentry and his father, and how he considered himself done with them both.

He replied with conviction, telling his son, "Yes, Derrick, I am most definitely done with fighting."

"Well, then," Derrick told him with a smile, "Now you can sit under the cork tree in the shade and smell the flowers."

Deeks smiled back at the thought. He still had everything he'd ever wanted, and he was grateful beyond measure. "That sounds pretty great, Derrick. Just as long as you and Little D and Kensi are all there with me," he said.

"And tacos," Derrick added.

"OK, yeah, and tacos," Deeks agreed. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

**A/N: There it is, my second ever story. I'd venture to say there will be few people who like it AND fluffy story number one (although this epilogue took a definite fluffy turn). Sorry for being so unpredictable.**

**The _Mercy Watson_ books, written by Kate DiCamillo and illustrated by Chris Van Dusen, were a favorite of my niece when she was young. ****_The Story of Ferdinand_****, by Munro Leaf with drawings by Robert Lawson, was one of my childhood favorites. Believe it or not, I had written this chapter long before our quarantine and Eric Christian Olsen's Social Distance Storytime began. In fact, after one of his first readings, I suggested he should read _Ferdinand_ and noted that Ferdinand reminded me of Deeks. He never read it, but he did reply with a "hahahaha," for whatever that's worth.**

**I highly recommend the taco sampler (filled with different mini-tacos) at Guisado's if you ever get the opportunity.**

**As previously mentioned, this story's title comes from a line in a Green Day song called "Give Me Novacaine," from an album called _American Idiot_. I chose the lyric for the title because it reminded me of Max, a demon in Deeks' own head. But once I had chosen it, it actually inspired me to add the recurring nightmares to the story. This chapter's title song is about the death of the Green Day front man's father, who died when he was ten. (Of course, unlike Deeks, he was sad about losing his father.)**

**The album is my all-time favorite. It's a rock opera story of a young man (Jesus of Suburbia) whose dark alter ego (St. Jimmy) leads him into trouble. Near the end of the story, the alter ego dies after Jesus rejects him, allowing Jesus to find peace. I only realized the similarities after I had the story mostly written, and so it seemed fitting to pull from its lyrics for the story and chapter titles. Technically, I pulled them from the soundtrack to the Broadway show of the same name, which also includes songs from their follow-up album, _21st Century Breakdown_, plus a few extras.**

**Thanks to everyone who offered advice along the way, including Sweet Lu, Psyched, Bluenet13, Jericho Steele, and Ejzah. This story couldn't have happened without their wisdom. And if somehow you haven't read all their amazing writing, I encourage you to go do that immediately. You won't be sorry. I feel so lucky to have been able to pick the brains of such a group of all-star writers.**

**Speaking of advice, if anyone out there is an attorney, or a social worker, I'm very much in need of someone who could answer some legal and procedural questions for a new story. Please PM me here or on Tumblr (anonkp) if you have time to help. **

**And finally, a huge thanks to everyone who read, followed, favorited, or commented. As a new fiction writer, every bit of feedback is helpful and encouraging, and I greatly appreciate all of it. Even if you haven't shared your comments yet - or maybe especially if you haven't - I'd love to know what you thought of my little story.**

**Karen**


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